CIHM 

Microfiche 

Series 

(l\/ionographs) 


ICIMH 

Collection  de 

microfiches 

(monographies) 


CanadiMi  Institun  for  Htetorical  Micrortproduetions  /  InstHut  cmaditn  d«  microraproductiont  hittoriques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes  /  Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best  original 
copy  available  for  filming.  Features  ot  this  copy  which 
may  be  bibliographically  unique,  which  may  alter  any  of 
the  Images  in  the  reproduction,  or  which  may 
significantly  change  the  usual  method  of  filming  ara 
checked  below. 


0 


Coloured  covers  / 
Couverture  de  couleur 


j    I  Covers  damaged  / 


Couverture  endommag^e 


□ Covers  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Couverture  restaur^e  et/ou  pellicul^e 

I    I  Cover  title  missing /Le  litre  de  couverture  manque 

I    I  Coloured  maps/ Cartes  gtegraphiques en  couleur 

□ Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)  / 
Encra  de  coiieur  (i.a.  autre  que  bieue  ou  no^) 

□ Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations  / 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material  / 
ReM  a^ec  d'autres  doctmimits 

Only  edition  available  / 
Seule  MHion  dteponible 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion  along 
interior  margin  /  La  reliure  serr^e  peut  causer  de 
I'ombre  ou  de  la  distorsion  le  long  de  la  rruirge 
int^rieure. 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restorations  may  appear 
within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these  have  been 
omitted  from  filming  /  II  se  peut  que  certaines  pag3s 
blanches  ajoutdes  tors  d'une  restauration 
apparakuent  dans  la  texte,  mais,  lorsque  cela  dtait 
PMStt)la,  cas  pages  n'ont  pas  M  f  Hmfos. 

Additional  comments  / 
Cormnantalras  suppMmantaifes: 


□ 
□ 
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L'Institut  a  microfllmi  la  maltour  examplaira  qu'H  M  a 
6X6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details  de  cet  exem- 
plaire  qui  sont  peut-6tre  uniques  du  point  de  vue  bibli- 
ograpNqua.  qui  peuvent  nxxflfier  una  image  raproduite. 

ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modification  dans  la  mMio- 
de  normale  de  filmage  sont  indiqu^s  ci-dessous. 

I    I  Cdourad  pages /r^iges  da  cotdew 

I    I  Pages  damaged/ Pages  andommagtes 


□ 


Pages  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Pages  restaurAes  et/ou  peMcuMes 


Q Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed  / 
PagM  dfcolor^  tacheMes  ou  piqu^ 

I    I  Pages  detached  /  Pages  ddtach^es 

\~y\  Showthrough /Tranaparenca 

I    j  Quality  of  print  varies  / 


□ 
□ 


□ 


Qualtt^  InAgala  da  rimprassion 

Includes  supplementary  material  / 
Comprend  du  matMel  si^ipMmenti^ 

Pages  wholly  or  partiaRy  obscured  by  errata  sl^. 
tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  totalement  ou 
partteHement  obscurcies  par  un  feuffiet  d'errata.  una 
pelure,  etc.,  ont  ^t^  film^es  k  nouveau  da  fafon  k 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 

Opposing  pages  with  varying  colouration  or 
discolourations  are  filmed  twice  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  s'opposant  ayant  daa 
colorations  variables  ou  des  decolorations  sont 
film^es  deux  fois  afin  d'obtenir  la  meilleure  image 


□ 


Thia  KwntofNiMdattlMradiwtfonratioelMetedbctow/ 


lOx 


14x 


18x 


22x 


26x 


30x 


12X 


20x 


24X 


I  I   I   I   I  I 


2tX 


UK. 


Th«  copy  filmed  h«r«  ha*  batn  r«produc«d  thanks 
to  tlw  9«n«rMity  of: 


L'axamplaira  filmi  fut  reproduit  grica  A  la 
04n4ro»it*  da: 


National  Library  of  Canada 


Mblfvthtqu*  nationale  du  Canada 


Tha  imagaa  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  baat  quality 
potsibla  contidaring  tha  condition  and  legibility 
of  tha  original  eopy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
fHmlng  eontraet  ipaclfieMiofw. 


Original  copies  in  printed  peper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  tha  front  cover  and  ending  on 
tha  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  beck  cover  when  appropriate.  Ail 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  laat  page  with  a  printed 
or  HHiatratad  impraaaion. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol        (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whiehevar  applies. 

Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc..  mey  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmsd 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bonom.  as  many  frames  aa 
required.  The  following  diagrama  Ulustrata  tha 
method: 


Lea  images  suhrantes  ont  M  reproduites  avec  le 

plus  grand  soin.  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet*  de  I'exemplaire  filmi.  et  en 
conformity  avae  laa  conditiorts  du  eontrat  da 
filmaga. 

Les  sxemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimte  sont  filmte  en  eommen^ant 
par  la  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
derniire  page  qui  comports  una  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plot,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  lea  autras  axemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmte  en  commandant  par  la 
pramiire  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  at  an  terminant  par 
la  derni4re  pege  qui  comporte  une  telle 
ampralnta. 

Un  das  symbolas  suivants  tpparaitra  sur  la 
darniire  image  de  chaque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  la  symbola  — signifie  "A  SUIVRE".  le 
symbola  ▼  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  pienches,  tableaux,  etc..  peuvent  itre 
filmte  A  des  taux  de  reduction  diffirsnts. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichi.  il  est  filmi  A  partir 
da  Tangia  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  i  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  an  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nicessaire.  I.es  disgrammas  suivants 
iiluatrant  la  mAthoda. 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

MICROCOPY  RESOLUTION  TEST  CHAIT 

(ANSI  ond  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


THB^\Ci  ^^^^^ 

SU^Cpij^df  FAILURE 


TAPMAN  mummo  compant 

NSW  YORK 


PS  3  S3 
/?/3 


Copyright,  191 3,  by 
TAPMAN  PUBUSHING  COMPANY 


1 


2b  tjm  vAo  made  the  writing' 
4f  tkU  book  possible 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

I  Tn  UvraMH  GmtT   7 

11  Two  DocTOH  AMD  A  Nmn  ...  36 

III  Tb«  DocTon  Call  Upon  Doiothy  .  49 

IV  LowTH-^,  THE  New  Appucant,  mid 

A  Cali.  laoii  Mm.  Gonon     .    .  59 

V  FtAlfX   IirSTALLID  Ilf   Tit*  "HOMB- 

uvwG  Place"  73 

VI  Doctor  Rom  axb  DoiofBY  Go  101 

Theik  Rob  ^ 

VII   Mrs.  Arcbm  RicoaitiiM  av  Ols 

Friend   lOj 

VIII   An  Old  AcQUAiirrAWCMliiF  RimnrED  118 
IX   Frank  Keeps  His  ApfomnctilT  WITH 

THE  Doctor    .......  tag 

X   Mrs.  Gordon's  Discdvemy      .    .    .  135 

XI  Mrs.    Archer    Bbcomm  Eahhah 
Thompson   


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  p^QB 

XII   Frank's  Indisposition  and  a  Tele- 
phone Call  from  Mrs.  Gordon    .  153 

XIII  Mrs.  Thompson  Visits  Her  Daughter  160 

XIV  A  Talk  with  Dorothy  and  the 

Selection  of  Roads  177 

XV   Frank  Enters  the  Hospital  of  the 
New  Birth  

XVI   Doctor  Ross  Keeps  His  Appointment 

WITH  D0K)THY  204 

XVII  Dorothy  Bids   Doctor  and  Mrs. 

Gonx>N  Fasbwell  217 

XVIII  The  Mapsiact   .    .    .    .    .    .    .  236 

XIX  Hannah  Learns  of  the  Doctor's 

Marriage  249 

XX  Mrs,  Thompson  Gets  a  Gumpse  of 

THE  "Home-living  Place"      .    .  a66 
XXI  Frank,  Restored  to  Health,  Leaves 

THE  Hospital  op  the  New  Birth  380 

XXII  Frank  Again  Visits  the  Shack    .  agi 


The  Success  of  Failure 


CHAPTER  I 


^  THE  UNBin»N  GUEST 

IN  addition  to  the  driving  wind  and  the  density  of  the 
night,  a  heavy  rain  was  fuS&ag  yrhea  die  last  train 
for  the  day  puUed  into  the  little  station  of  Petentown. 
Its  only  passenger,  a  man,  alighted  and  made  his  way 
to  where  the  station-agent  was  standing  upon  tiie 
platform,  and  immediately  inquired  of  him  where  he 
could  secure  a  conveyance  to  take  him  out  to  his  shack, 
a  distance  of  about  three  miles. 

"I'm  sorry,  sir,"  informed  the  agent,  "but  I  don't 
know  of  anyone  who  would  be  willing  to  hitch  up  and 
drive  you  out  on  such  a  nig^t  as  this." 

"Then,  I  shall  have  to  waOc,'*  said  tlw  man,  and  he 
raised  his  hands  and  adjusted  the  collar  of  his  eoat 
more  securely  about  his  neck. 

"Why  not  put  up  at  the  hotel  for  the  night?"  sug- 
gested the  agent.  "You  will  find  little  trouble  in  get- 
ting someone  to  drive  you  out  in  the  morning." 

7 


S  The  Success  of  Pailur* 

"Thank  you."  said  tlie  man,  stooping  over  to  turn 
up  h.s  trousers  at  each  ankle,  "but  I  am  determined  to 
reach  there  tonight." 

"We  have  had  considerable  rain  and  the  roads,  I 
hear  are  far  from  good.  I  shouldn't  advise  you  to 
try  ,t,  and  the  agent  shook  his  head  dissuasively,  "for 
it  _vvc,uldnt  be  any  fun  tosing  the  road  a  night  like 

thelt^^n^"''  ^f"Z^-  ^^^^'•theless,  I  shall  make 
walkM^Sr''.  f  T^""^  S^^"'ght  the  man 

walked  off  mto  the  darkness  and  lonesomeness  of  a 
country  road. 

tiJfnrpt'*^"^      '^^'^     ''''^y  ^^^^       the  sta. 

shack  nd  his  only  reason  tonight  for  continuing  on  to 
Peterstown  was  to  avoid  the  possible  mee^  of 

SI  remembered 
nghtly,  after  ttirning  the  comer,  was  straight  and  level 
for.  perhaps,  a  mile,  when  it  tnmed  to  the  left  and  led 
over  two  long,  steep  hills,  and  then  went  off  to  the  right 
imothe  woods  This  part  of  the  road,  he  recalTe^X 
shorten  their  iottmey  by  a  mile  to  the  next  town. 

After  an  hour  of  sttimbHng  and  groping  in  the  dark 
he  turned  in  at  what  wa.  caOed  tte  WoX 


The  Unbidden  Guest 


9 


an  additional  five  minutes'  walk  brought  him  to  the  gate 
of  the  little  pathway  leading  to  the  shack,  or  roughly 
built  bungalow.  Very  tired  from  striving  with  the  wind 
and  wet  from  the  heavy  rain,  he  pushed  open  the  gate 
and  walked  up  the  path  and  unlocked  the  door.  Enter- 
ing, he  stood  motionless  for  a  number  of  seconds  before 
striking  a  match,  then  carrying  it  he  felt  his  way  over 
to  the  mantel-piece  on  the  side  of  the  room  opposite 
the  door,  where  he  found  a  candle-stick,  in  which  was 
a  small  piece  of  candle.  This  he  lit,  and  then  walked 
back  and  closed  the  door. 

The  dim  light  disclosed  a  large  room,  in  which  could 
gradually  be  discerned  a  table  in  the  center,  a  couch  on 
the  side  away  from  the  door  to  the  left,  a  book-case  to 
the  right  and  under  the  mantel-piece  a  large  fire-place, 
in  which  were  laid  logs  of  .vood  ready  for  lighting.  On 
one  side  of  the  fire-place  was  a  large  arm-chair  and  on 
the  other  side  a  smaU  rocking-chair.  Standing  near 
the  door  was  a  hat-rack,  upon  which  oar  acquaintance, 
Mr.  Franklin  Thompson,  hung  his  hat  and  coat.  The 
room  was  evidently  one  which  served  two  purposes, 
that  of  living-room  and  hall. 

Franklin  Thompson,  or  Frank,  as  we  shall  caU  him, 
after  hanging  up  his  hat  and  coat,  drew  a  chair, 
hitherto  not  visible,  from  a  dark  comer  of  the  room 
and  placed  it  by  the  table.  He  seated  himself  upon  it 
and  took  from  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat  a  small 


'°  The  Success  of  Failure 

noTnr  'V        "^^^  ^  There  will  be 

no  more  tomorrows  to  follow  the  nights,  no  more 

Sr?!.'  r  """'^  facing.  This 
time  I  shall  succeed." 

thinf  TJ?"  r,!;"  P'^™''^  ^'"'^^'^  ^his  same 

hl  f ^   ?  «  this  room  of 

heta^:^  '  u''  '°"^^*>'  ^"^  truthfulness, 

he  had  rtated  emphatically  that  it  should  be  his.  And 

ZZe  Jw  "^'^  surroundings  to  the 

home  of  his  youth,  a  failure. 

His  gaze  leaves  the  bottle  and  travels  slowlv  and 

S  rr  "early 

*u*  room.  It  then  comes  back  to  his  folded  arms 
restmg  upon  the  table,  and  hi,  h.  .d  slowlv^veT^^ 
sbwly-droops  until  it  reaches  the  folded  arms  and 
there  rem-s  while  his  thoughts  go  baclc  overThe  pTst 
m?nv  effol  o  ^     "f  disappointments,  his 

hasToul^?!^^'''^*'?*  the  battles  he 

has  fought  and  lost.  Could  he  have  exchanged  for  the 
practices  of  the  world  the  principles  under^Sng  ri^ 

But     ''J  '"T'  ''''''      would  have  sS! 
„S^h^'"f  ^""^  himself  to 

«I1  h,8  manhood  for  a  mess  of  pottage.   For  him  to 


The  Unbidden  Guest  n 

attain  success,  other  than  by  worthy  means,  was  out  of 

the  question,  and  to  have  accepted  it  at  any  other  price 
would  have  meant  failure,  although  of  a  different  kind 
he  well  knew.  ' 

How  very  tired,  how  thoroughly  wearied  he  is  of 
this  walking  in  the  dark  these  many  years!  The  one 
thing  now  he  desires  most  is  rest;  to  get  away  from 
Life's  continual  questioning,  to  go  to  sleep  rnd  never 
wake,  to  be  able  to  forget  and  to  be  forgotien.  No 
longer  does  he  wish  for  another  existence,  and  he  cares 
nothmg  for  its  rewards  nor  its  punishments. 

So  wholly  absorbed  in  painful  recollection  is  he,  that 
he  hears  not  a  gentle  and  persistent  knocking,  nor  is 
he  aroused  by  the  opening  and  closing  of  the  door,  and 
IS  totally  obUvMUs  to  the  sound  of  a  woman's  tired  and 
faltering  step  and  the  trailii^  of  her  rain-soaked  gar- 
ments as  she  crosses  the  room.  She  is  hatless  and 
coatless  and  her  hair,  in  wet  disorder,  hangs  over  her 
shouWers,  and  in  the  dim  candle  light  her  face  looks 
wan  and  worn.  At  the  sight  of  the  man,  seated  beside 
the  table,  a  sigh  of  relief  and  satisfaction  escapes  her, 
and  sitting  down  upon  the  couch  she  watches  mtently 
the  motionless  figure  upon  the  chair. 

The  candle  is  slowly  burning  out,  and  not  a  sound  is 
heard,  save  for  the  rain  pattering  on  tlie  roof  and 
the  swishing  of  the  ram4Mitiied  branches  of  the  trees 
outside. 


The  Success  of  Failure 

An  hour,  or  more,  has  pasied.  and  she  is  sriU  watch- 
mg  rhen,  with  a  groan,  he  raises  his  head  and  outs 
out  h.  hand  for  the  bottle.  His  fingers  ctse  upo' 
and  he  proc*«ds  to  draw  out  the  cork,  still  unmSu 
of  the  sUent  %«re  which  now  rises  and  moves  qu"  e  iv 
o  h,s  s.de.  He  raises  the  botUe  to  his  lips  anS  n  a 
few  moments  what  he  has  come  here  to  ^^nLl 
been  done;  but  as  he  is  about  to  pour  its  contTnts  inln 

and  unbidden  guest,  and  with  authority  she  draws  it 
down  until  his  arm  rests  with  the  other  upon  the  teWe 
and  the  vial,  released  from  the  now  tremS^  finZl:' 
falls  to  the  ground,  spilling  its  contents.       ^  ^  ' 
u  "^^^^  sputters  and  goes  out    It  is 

the  hour  before  dawn  and  afl  is  in  darLss.  The  rain 
has  ceased,  and  all  that  can  be  heard  i.  u-  , 

the  wind  through  the  treT  *  ^  "^'^'"^^ 

Surprised,  and  not  a  little  alarmed,  by  this  interfer 

o"?  the"^^  'TTT  '^^'^  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Of  the  room,  fully  alive  to  the  fact  that  he  is  not  alonp 

Someone  is  here,  but  who?  He  is  not  hyly  m^. 
o  hhtS  '^iiV°*t  r'^;  controftheS;^ 

whoivSn^hu  7        '"^  ^'^"^  ^^^^      foot  is 
whoHy  incapable  of  commanding  his  voice.  After  mak 

mg  many  vain  attempts  to  speak,  he  is  muTh  reiiTxtl 

when  the  voice  of  the  woman,  iow-tcnS^" 

breaks  the  silence,  and  she  says :  ^ 


The  Unbiddtn  Gnm  13 

"You  are  greaUy  agitated;  be  quiet  and  do  not  try 
to  talk.  As  briefly  as  possible  I  wiU  explain  my  pres- 
ence here.  An  important  errand  called  me  out  tonight 
and  I  was  caught  in  the  storm.  From  the  road  I  saw 
the  feeble  light  of  the  candle  shining  through  the  win- 
dow and,  being  unable  to  proceed  further,  I  turned  into 
the  path  leading  to  the  door,  upon  which  I  knocked 
many  times  but  received  no  answer.  Encouraged  by 
the  silence  within  I  opened  the  door  and  entered." 

When  she  had  finished  speaking,  Frank  with  a  long, 
shuddering  sigh  settled  back  in  his  chair  without  utter- 
ing a  word.  Was  he  sorry,  he  questioned,  that  he  had 
been  prevented  from  carrying  out  the  purpose  of  his 
visit  to  the  shack?  He  did  not  know.  Was  he  glad? 
He  did  not  know.  That  he  was  still  here,  when  he  ex- 
pected to  be  he  krow  not  where,  was  evident.  He 
shivered,  and  for  the  first  time  that  night  he  began  to 
feel  the  cold  dampness  of  the  room  .  My,  but  he  was 
cold!  Then  he  remembered  his  unbidden  guest;  she 
must  be  cold,  also,  for  her  clothes,  like  his,  were  rain- 
soaked. 

Turning  his  head  in  the  ifoectkm  from  which  her 
voice  had  come,  he  said  unsteadily : 

"You,  I  am  sure,  must  be  suffering  from  the  coki 
and  dampness  of  the  night." 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  shivering,  "I  am  cold." 

Without  saying  another  word,  Frank  stretched  out 


'4  The  Success  ef  FaUme 

a  much  bestiflFened  leg  and  put  his  hand  in  a  pocket  of 
Ins  trousers  and  brought  out  a  box  of  matches.  Strik- 
mg  one  upon  its  side,  he  rose  shakUy  to  his  feet  and 
walking  slowly  carried  it  carefully  over  to  the  fire- 
place and  applied  it  to  the  paper  and  loose  bark  that 
was  under  the  wood.  A  bright  blaze  which  lit  up  the 
room  was  the  result,  and  he  saw,  seated  upon  the  couch, 
a  young  woman  about  whose  age  one  could  not  be 

H^l*  '^''''^        ^"'■"^^  "P  to  him  was 

ghastly  pale  and  infinitely  sad.  Her  dress  was  wet.  the 

aCrr'f^:[ '^"^  ^"     ^'^^  '^''y 

V  turned  away  and  walked  over  to  the  window  and 

hght  of  anodw  day  was  breaking  through  the  clouds 
The  night  had  passed  and  the  day  from  asleep  was 
awakening.  He  stood  there  looking  out,  and  a  war  of 
conflicting  emotions  raged  within  him.  Somcthine 
irreater  and  stronger  than  he  had  hitherto  known  was 

t7l  T?'"*^,  gasped, 
gassed  and  struggled,  as  it  fought  for  supremacy.  On 
and  on,  as  the  minutes  passed,  it  strove,  beating  back 
and  crushing  out  all  resisting  force. .  It  won^e  no 
longer  resisted ;  he  submitted.  As  the  strife  ceased,  he 
«ined  his  head  wearily  against  the  window  frame,  and 

hirjlt,  °^!ri^^"»  *  commanding  silence,  bidding 
him  be  still,  and  for  ti«  first  time  in  his  Hfe  he  rested 


The  Unbidden  Guest 


15 


Then  there  rose  up  within  him  a  great  longing  to  be 
Mid  to  do,  and  was  as  a  man  awakened  from  a  long, 
long  sleep,  refreshed  and  strengthened. 

It  was  daylight  when  Frank  raised  his  head  and 
apin  looked  out  of  the  window.  The  sun  had  raised 
his  head  from  the  soft  pillow  of  gray  and  was  bathing 
the  sky  with  bright  rays  of  golden  red.  The  trees 
unaffected  by  the  storm,  stoM  as  proudly  erect  as  ever' 
and  the  earth,  clad  in  her  mantle  of  green.  looked 
marvelously  fresh  and  young.  Nature  was  singing  her 
morning  hymn  in  magnificent  silence. 

When  Frank  at  last  turned  away  from  the  window  he 
found  his  guest  of  the  night  standing  on  the  rug  before 
the  fire.  He  wondered  how  long  she  had  been  standing 
there  Gliding  himself  for  his  remissness,  he  stepped 
quickly  over  to  the  hat-rack  and  from  behind  it  he 
drew  a  large  folded  reclining  chair.  This  he  opener' 
and  placed  at  a  comfortable  distance  from  the  fire,  and 
said :  ' 

"Won't  you  sit  down  here  and  rest?" 

Jhank  you,"  she  replied,  seating  herself  in  the  chair 

Picking  up  tiie  poker  Frank  stirred  up  the  burning 
logs  of  wood  and  then  went  out  through  a  door  which 
led  into  the  kitchen,  returning  shortly  carrying  in  his 
arms  more  logs.  Three  he  placed  upon  the  fire  and 
the  remaining  two  he  laid  upon  the  rug 

After  replenishing  the  fire,  Frank  turned  to  his  guest 


i6 


The  Success  of  Failure 


and  was  about  to  ask  her  if  she  found  the  chair  com- 
fortable and  if  she  felt  at  all  rested,  when,  to  his  sur- 
prise, b*  found  she  had  fallen  asleep.  It  was  now  his 
turn  to  watch.  Whp  could  she  be?  he  queried  as  he 
sat  down  in  the  arm-chair  a  short  distance  away.  What 
errand  could  have  taken  her  out  so  late  at  night  in  the 
storm? 

As  he  sat  there,  his  eyes  travelled  over  her  face  and 
noted  the  broad,  white  forehead,  fn»n  which  tiie  hair 
in  a  damp,  dark  mass  fell  back,  the  prettily  curved 
eye-brows,  the  closed  lids,  the  well-shaped  nose, 
the  HKnith  which  was  neither  small  nor  large,  and  the 
firmly  rounded  chin.  As  she  slefrt  the  lines  of  care 
left  her  face  and  into  its  paleness  Acre  crept  a  faint 
pink. 

The  sun  had  been  up  an  hour  and  was  pouring  his 
warm  rays  Arough  the  window  when  she  awoke. 
Frank  had  not  stirred  from  his  seat  at  the  comer  of 
the  fire-place.  Sitting  up  she  regarded  him  out  of  a 
pair  of  dark-brown  eyes  with  a  look  of  mournful  in- 
terrogation, and  asked : 

"How  long  have  I  been  asleep?" 

"About  an  hour,"  answered  Frank,  looidng  at  his 
watch  as  he  ro«e  from  his  chair.  "It  is  now  six 
o'clock." 

"It  is  late,"  she  said,  "and  my  work  is  not  yet  done." 
"She  sto^  d  up  and  her  hair,  with  which  the  wind 


The  UnbiddeH  Guest  ,7 
and  rain  had  played  havoc,  fell  down  her  back  in  a 

Ttt  T  ?      ''f^'  P^"^  ^''^'^^h  had  held 

.  to  her  head  shrped  out  upon  the  floor.  Stooping 
down  she  picked  them  up  .nd  with  her  h^d! 

laTked 

•'What  a  diflFerence  the  condition  of  the  weather 

makes  m  our  appreciation  of  the  outside  world.  laS 
night,  we,  anxious  to  escape  from  the*howling.  drivh^ 

shelfer"'™  "i"'  ^ 

s  h.!^         u  ^^^'^  *y  »  '^^^'^  and  the  earth 

IS  baskmg  m  the  warm  rays  of  the  sun.  The  storm  is 
forgotten  and  nature  is  aglee." 

"That  is  true  of  the  country,  I  think,"  replied  Frank 
r««mi«g  his  seat,  "but  in  the  large  cities'  whh  heir' 
many  conveniences  I  am  not  k»  st«  that  it  r^ 

say  that  a  clear  sky  ,s  not  preferable  to  clouds  nor  that 

wither.  But-take  transportation,  for  instance-there 

ZT"^'  ,7^'  -^^-t  a  large  dty 

For  the  wealthy  and  the  not  so  wealthy  there  Z 

thetlbwf  •  "^'"^^^  workin/class^h^^^  t 

the  subways  the  elevated,  surface  cars  and  bus  lines 

notCJ  m/"  the  weather  dc^s 

not  materially  affect  dty  people.'* 


i8 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"Why  do  you  say  'the  ordinary  working-class'?"  she 
uked,  regarding  Frank  curiously.  "I  have  been  Uught 

to  regard  all  human  beings  as  extraordinary." 

"Evidently  the  knowledge  imparted  to  you  by  your 
teachers  was  not  acquired  in  a  large  city  with  an  ex- 
cess populatkm  of  working  people,"  said  Frank,  laugh- 
ing, "or  you  would  readily  understand  why  I  use  that 
phrase." 

"What  makes  them  ordinary?"  she  asked,  sitting 
down  in  her  chair. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,  but  I  suppose  one  would  say 
their  position  in  life." 

Slowly  raising  her  eyes  she  regarded  him  wonder- 

ingly,  and  said : 

"Life  is  an  unbidden  guest  and  knows  no  degree, 
and  with  it  is  endowed  every  member  of  the  human 
family.  Its  source  may  only  be  found  m  the  Greater 

Life.  How  then  can  members  belonginp'  to  that  family 
have  different  positions  in  life  ?  There  is  only  the  one.'' 

"Tbey  have,  just  the  same,"  stubbornly  replied 
Frank.  "An^  bitter  is  the  war  waged  between  indi- 
viduals for  tL  positions." 

'  Is  not  thai  i  singular  situation,  the  fighting  of 
humanity  against  itself?"  she  asked  wonderingly. 

^'Humanity  does  not  regard  it  as  such." 

"Is  the  result  of  the  warfare  satisfoctoryr 

"Taking  it  as  a  whole,  I  axn  sorry  to  say,  it  is  iK>t 


Tkt  Unbiditn  Gmtt  ,p 

The  weak  are  forced  to  give  place  to  the  strong,  drop- 
pmg  o«t  one  by  one.  from  the  ranks,  and  little;  if  anyi 
hing  ,s  known  of  them  themfter.  The  ttnmg  who 
take  the,r  place  m  time  become  weak  and  are.  fa  turn 
replaced  by  others  more  vigorous.  And  so  it  goes  on' 

Uron^^  ^ 

it  iiot  r  *  <fivi«led  tgafatt  fttdf /  i. 

place.  That  ,s  to  secure  hfa  own  good  man  must  k)ok 

to  the  good  of  his  brother-man  " 

fZ^JT"  ,'^"*^^l^dge  of  the  world."  said 
t^rfh  would  know 

o  f  hatTf  hi-  own  gooi  at  the  ex^nse 

theprL  J  Some  mao  .Iways^ays 

JSuch  knowledge  is  worthless,  for  it  is  not  possible 
for  man  to  sow  evil  and  reap  good  nor  to  sow  g^t d 
reap  ev  nor  to  take  tha*  tJ^  sooa  and 

can  be  given."  ^*     ^'^^'l"*^*  *'«tum 


20 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"By  that  you  mean  man  must  pay  with  good  fo9 
any  good  he  gets."  * 

"I  do,"  she  replied  emphatically. 

"I  am  afraid  the  men  and  women  of  the  world  wtUi 
whom  I  am  acquainted  would  not  agree  with  you,"  re- 
plied Frank  laughing. 

"That  would  not  be  wonderful,  would  it  ?"  asked  she 
smiling.  "They  do  not  agree  with  themselves."  And 
getting  up  from  her  chair  she  walked  over  to  the  win- 
dow and  looked  out. 

Frank  laughed,  and  getting  to  his  feet  joined  her  at 
the  window. 

"The  perversion  of  humanity  is  remarkable,"  she 
continued.    "Oie  does  not  find  it  so  in  the  vtgt' 

table  world.  Look  at  that  tree  with  its  bark-covered 
enormous  trunk  and  its  strong  spreading  branches 
decked  with  their  beautiful  green  leaves.  See  how 
erectly  it  stands  as  though  health  and  strength  were 
to  be  its  heritage  for  years  and  years  to  come.  The 
elements  necessary  for  its  preservation  are  evidently 
work'ng  in  harmony,  and  any  attack  must  come  from 
a  foreign  foe.  Supposing,  however,  one  of  the  ele- 
ments should  decide  that  it  needed  a  certain  proportion 
of  anoth«*  element  and  should  enter  into  conflict  for 
its  possession  and  it  should  succeed  in  separating  the 
compnnent  part  and  attaching  it  to  itself,  it  would  only 
impoverish  the  other  element  and  lessen  its  possibili- 


The  Unbidden  Guest 


31 


ties  and  add  to  itadf  that  of  which  it  had  no  need  and 
which  would  eventually  perish  for  the  lack  of  the 

proper  environment  to  perform  its  pre-ordained  func- 
tion. At  first,  possibly,  the  absence  would  not  be  per- 
ceptible, but  as  time  went  on  the  constant  draining 
would  be  felt  by  the  remaining  etements  and  they  would 
gradually  become  incapacitated,  and  the  end  of  the 
tree  would  be  death.  So  it  must  be  with  the  social  tree 
of  man's  planting,  whose  roots  are  sunk  in  the  soil  of 
self  and  whose  elements  are  constantly  warring  airainst 
each  other." 

"You  are  not  so  ignorant  of  the  world  and  its  doings 
as  I  thought,"  replied  Frank  with  a  smile. 

"I  am  well  acquainted  with  that  tree,"  she  answered 
sadly.   "Its  great  bare  trunk  is  o'erspread  with  scars 
and  its  gigantic  outstretched  limbs  touch  with  their 
shadows  many  lands.   The  branches  at  the  Uyp  with 
their  ceaseless  tossing,  stirred  by  the  winds  from  the 
Land  of  More,  keep  those  underneath  constantly  mov- 
ing and  cause  the  fluttering  of  their  leaves  in  the  breeze 
from  the  Isle  of  Want   Right  below  these  are  the 
branches  whose  leaves  are  blown  hither  and  thither  by 
a  gale  from  the  Ocean  of  Need,  and  hidden  beneath  are 
the  timid  and  frail  stems  with  their  tiny  blighted  leaves. 
Nearly  at  the  bottom  are  huge  limbs  covered  with 
leaves  turning  yelkw,  vainly  struggling  against  the 
gusts  of  wind  from  the  Btver  of  Greed,  only  to  be 


22 


The  Success  of  Failure 


carried  off,  again  and  again,  to  the  City  of  Nowhere. 
At  the  bottom  the  branches  are  withered  and  old  and 
reach  out  their  long  gaunt  arms  over  the  Province  of 
Death." 

"And  yet,"  said  Frank  thoughtfully,  "it  is  a  tree  in 
which,  rightly  or  wrongly,  the  interests  of  man  are  cen- 
tered and  his  life  is  sustained  by  its  fruits." 

"Are  its  fruits  satisfying?" 

"I  cannot  say  that  they  are  alt(^[ether  so/'  gPcxmiily 
responded  Frank. 

"In  what  do  they  lack?" 

"Much.  They  fail  to  produce  unity  or  to  meet  the 
aspirations  of  man." 

"In  othor  words,  their  life  sustainii^  qualities  are 
those  of  discord  and  dissatisfaction." 

"That  is  the  result  of  my  experience  and  observa* 
tion." 

The  face  which  she  turned  up  to  him  looked  wan  and 
gray  and  her  eyes  were  swimming  in  unshed  tears  as 
she  asked : 

"How  long  will  man  continue  to  partake  of  its 
fruits,  fruits  which  are  so  barren  of  good  and  which 
cannot  truly  benefit  anyone?" 

"You  are  tired.  Come  back  to  your  chair,"  said 
Frank  sympathetically,  turning  and  leading  tfce  way. 

"My  weariness  is  nothing  unusual,"  she  replied  as 
sne  followed  him  and  sank  wearily  down  mto  her 


The  Unbidden  Guest  23 

chair.  "Indeed,  I  am  often  very,  very  weary,"  and 
sighing  she  leaned  her  head  back  and  gaicd  sadly  into 

the  fire. 

Frank  turned  over  with  the  poker  what  remained 
in  the  grr.te  of  the  burning  logs  and  added  those  whioh 
were  lying  on  the  rug.  He  then  sat  down  in  the  rock- 
ing-chair at  the  comer  of  the  fire-place,  and  looking 
smilingly  at  her,  said  gently : 

"Why  worry  about  this  tree  which  has  existed  long 
before  our  entrance  upon  the  scene  of  its  activities  ahd 
which  will  continue  to  exist  km^  after  we  have  ceased 
to  be  leaves  upon  its  branches,  for,  grieve  as  we  will 
and  labor  as  we  must,  we  cannot  change  it  nor  stop  its 
growth."  ' 

"That  is  the  never-ceasirg  monotonous  song  which 
the  leaves  smg  as  they  swing  backwards  and  forwai-ds 
upon  its  branches,"  she  said  a  trifle  impatiently.  "It 
is  a  dismal  song  and  aic  in  which  all  of  its  no^es 
disagree." 

"Why  weep,  then,  over  what  cannot  be  helped?" 
asked  Frank  smiling.  "We  cannot  remove  the  singers 
nor  alter  the  song." 

"But  is  that  true?"  she  asked,  sitting  upright  in  her 
chair.  "If  so,  it  would  indeed  be  foolish  to  sorrow 
over  that  that  admits  of  no  remedy.  But  is  it  not 
possible  for  man  to  live  without  lodging  in  its  branches, 
without  partaking  of  its  fruits  or  of  singing  iU  toagf. 


24 


Tite  Success  of  Failure 


Is  not  the  planting  of  his  own  tree  given  to  every  man  ? 
Does  not  the  decision  of  the  soil  in  which  it  shall  grow 
rest  with  him,  whether  it  shall  be  that  of  service  or 
that  of  self  in  which  its  roots  shall  grow  and  spread 
out  ?  Can  he  not  decide  whether  his  tree  shall  be  hus- 
banded by  his  own  efforts  rather  than  by  those  of  an- 
other? Is  it  not  his  right  to  say  whether  its  branches 
shall  be  abiding  places,  and  the  fruit  growing  thereupon 
be  life  sustaining?" 

"You  are  an  idealist,  I  see,"  said  Frank,  with  an 
amused  smile.  "Such  conditions  as  you  portray  might 
be  possible  where  men  and  women  do  not  have  to  battle 
for  their  bread  and  butter;  but  down  here,  in  this 
world,  where  man  has  to  give  himself  that  his  body 
may  live,  it  is,  I  assiire  you,  a  different  matter." 
"What  is  an  idealist  ?"  she  queried  perplexedly. 
**The  world's  definition  of  an  idealist  is,  I  think,"  said 
Frank  slowly,  "a  person  who  sees  Hfe  as  it  should  be 
and  not  as  it  is." 

"That  seems  rather  contradictory,  does  it  not?  For 
if  a  physician  be  ignorant  of  a  disease  and  the  reason 
olits  existence,  what  assurance  has  tiie  i^icted  patient 
that  his  prescriptions  w  '  be  remedial?" 

"The  world  has  many  fust  such  physicians,  howevtt, 
who,  without  a  proper  understanding  of  conditions, 
constantly  prescribe  remedies  whose  application  they 
believe  wodd  greMfy  tesMn,  if  not  whoUy  remove,  the 


The  Unbiddfn  Guest  25 

innumerable  disorders  with  which  society  is  strug- 
gling; and  their  lack  of  efficacy  they  attribute  to  the 
fact  that  the  tnajerity  of  people,  if  not  totally  negligent, 
do  not  altogether  depend  upon  their  rigid  application 
to  allay  their  ills,  but  prefer,  somewhat,  to  rely  ttpoa 
home-made  remedies." 

"And  is  not  tiie  home-made  remedy  the  only  one  upon 
which  we  can  safely  rely  to  find  the  true  acMirce  of 
health  ?"  she  asked.  "For  if  we  are  to  have  a  perfect 
\\'e,  we  must  have  a  perfect  I." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  Frank,  with  a  light  laugh,  "you 
are  not  only  an  idealist  but  an  individualist  as  well." 

'If  by  that  bg  word  you  mtan"  she  replied  nniling, 
•that  good  and  bad  start  with  the  individual  but  can- 
not exist  at  the  same  time  and  the  effect  of  their  opera- 
tions is  decidedly  distinct  and  separate,  then  I  am  an 
individualist." 

•'By  that  you  would  say,  I  suppow,"  said  Frank, 
taking  up  the  poker  and  turning  over  the  unbumt  side 
of  the  logs  until  they  rested  upon  the  burning  red 
coals,  society  is  no  stronger  than  its  weakest  member 
and  no  better  tiian  its  wowt" 

"Society  is  a  unit  and  acfanits  of  no  clasn&atkn. 
It  has  but  one  source,  one  gate  of  entrance  and  one  of 
departure.  But  enough  of  this  for  the  present :  I  moat 
leave  you  shortly  and  my  message  is  to  you." 

"To  me!"  exclaimed  Franie,  much  surprised. 


a6  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Yes,  to  you,"  she  replied  gently. 

"What  message  can  you  possibly  have  to  give  me?" 
he  asked  doubtingly.  "I  was  not  aware  that  any  of  my 
acquaintances  kiscw  of  my  intention  to  leave  the  city, 
nor  my  purpose  of  leaving." 

"It  was  not  known  to  an  acquaintance,"  she  said 
quietly ;  "it  was  known  to  a  friend." 

"A  friend,"  repeated  he,  his  forehead  drawing  to- 
gether in  puzzled  lines.  "You  are  surely  mistaken,  for 
I  can  assure  you  there  is  no  one  to  whom  my  coming 
and  going  would  be  of  interest  nor  to  whom  my  liv- 
ing or  dyuig  would  make  a  difference.  The  only  per- 
son who  would  have  cared  is  gone,  and  her  body  lies 
out  there  in  the  woods  and  rests  amidst  the  wild 
flowers  which  she  loved.  That  one  was  my  mother. 
She  and  I  made  this  little  shack  our  home  for  many 
years,  and  when  she  died  and  went  away  I  found  Ae 
little  place  too  lonesome,  so  I  went  into  the  city  and 
engaged  apartments.  However,  it  was  lonely  there, 
too,  for  acquaintances  one  might  make,  but  friends, 
never." 

"I  know,"  she  replied  sympathetically.  "Neverthe- 
less, the  author  of  the  message  which  I  Imng  you  is 

a  friend." 
"His  name?" 

"The  message  I  may  give  you.  but  the  ntmt  of  Ac 


The  Unbidden  Guest  ajT 

sender  the  coming  years  of  your  life  upon  earth  must 
disclose/'  she  replied. 

"What  is  the  message,  then?" 

"This  is  the  message,"  she  replied,  and  slowly  re- 
cited the  following  lines : 

"Success  is  die  hostage  of  every  man  and  awaits 
him  who  rightly  seeks.  But  why  seek  to  pluck  its  fair 
flowers  in  groves  where  only  the  weeds  of  failure  grow, 
which  appear  from  a  distance  so  beautiful  in  their 
rosy-hue  and  so  greatly  to  be  desired,  but  which,  upon 
possesion,  stain  with  their  redness  all  that  they  touch. 
Their  leaves  are  full  of  holes,  through  which  filter  tiny 
streams  of  human  tears,  and  at  their  roots  lie  the  de- 
cayed hopes  and  aspirations  of  man." 

Frank,  much  perplexed,  listened  attentively  to  the 

recital  of  the  message.  At  its  completion,  he  said : 
"What  is  its  meaning  and  in  what  way  does  it  apply 

to  me?" 

"Its  meaning  is,  I  should  say,"  she  replied,  "<me 
should  not  seek  to  purchase  with  the  world's  coin^ 
that  which  it  cannot  buy  " 

"Would  you  have  me  infer,"  indignantly  interrupted 
Frank,  "that  I  was  other  than  honest  and  truthful  in 
my  efforts  to  attain  success?  Had  I  beoi  so,  tlw 
failures  and  disaj^intments  would  have  hurt  me  less. 


28 


The  Success  of  Failure 


It  was  because  of  my  inability  to  reconcile  conditions 
that  I  lost  hope  and  love  of  life.  I  could  not  under- 
stand why  fifteen  years  of  patient,  honest  effort  should 
result  in  fifteen  years  of  fruitless  effort ;  that  I  should 
not  he  materially  any  better  off  in  the  end  of  that  time 
than  I  was  in  the  beginning,  and  that  for  my  labor  I 
had  nothing  to  show  but  a  pair  of  well-worn,  empty 
hands.  The  uselessnesi  of  the  struggle  oppressed 
me,  and  I  decided  to  open  the  dkx)r  and  go  out.  I 
had  no  desire  for  a  future  existence  and  longed  for 
annihilation." 

"Nor  to  proffer,"  continued  she,  "in  exchange  for 
world-called  success,  a  coinage  which  the  worid  is  slow 
to  recognize  and  fails  to  make  its  own." 

"That  sounds  remarkably  well,"  impatiently  replied 
Frank,  "but  is  not  to  succeed  the  ambition  of  every 
normal  man?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  widi  a  strange  smile.  "But 
man,  as  the  world  knows  him,  is  not  normal.  He  is 
abnormal,  and  all  that  he  does  must  partake  of  that 
abnormality,  which  accounts  for  the  bewildering  fact 
that  he  ascribes  his  almormality  to  the  abnormalities  ol 
conditions,  when  just  the  ofq>osite  is  the  truth.  No 
words  prescribe  a  remedy  more  folly  dian  tiicte:  'Ye 
must  be  bom  again/  " 

As  she  quoted  the  last  five  words,  Frank,  somewhat 
irritated  and  thoroughly  mystified,  rose  from  his  chair 


The  Unbidden  Guest 


29 


and  walked  to  the  door,  opened  it  and  looked  out. 
Standing  there  in  the  doorway  with  the  cool  breeze 
blowing  his  h^Xt  btck  from  his  forehead,  he  mentally 
explored  every  ronemberaUe  node  and  cnumy  of  his 
past  to  locate,  if  possible,  some  incident  which  would 
enlighten  the  present  situation.  That  he  had  never 
heretofore  met  this  woman,  to  whose  interfering  hand 
he  owed  his  life,  he  was  positive.  Why  was  she  here 
and  from  whom  had  she  obtained  the  information  of 
his  morbid  intention  upon  his  arrival  at  the  shack? 
Why  had  she  brought  to  him  such  a  message,  the  pur- 
port of  which  he  could  not  perceive  ?  Try  as  he  would, 
he  could  not  recall  a  single  instaiKe  whidi,  b  any  way, 
could  account  for  her  presence.  Bafifed,  he  abandoned 
the  search,  trusting  that  she,  ntarily  or  inadver- 
tently, would  disclose  her  identi  .  explain  away  the 
disquieting  circumstances.  Turning,  he  came  in  and 
closed  the  doOr  and  again  took  his  seat  in  tiie  roddng- 
chair.  She  was  lying  quietly  back  in  her  chair  gaxii^ 
dreamily  into  the  fire,  and  evidently  her  thoughts  were 
far  away,  for  neither  by  word  nor  sign  did  she  intimate 
she  was  aware  of  his  presence  as  he  sat  down.  Not  a 
sound  tm^e  tiie  stilhiess  of  the  toom  lor  wtwnX 
minutes,  then,  with  a  gentle  sig^  die  straq^iteiied 
and  regarded  '.Am  inquiringly. 

"Of  what  are  you  thinking?"  she  smilingly  asked. 

"I  am  thinking  of  you,"  he  replied  moodily. 


30 


Thi  Success  of  Failure 


"Thinking  of  me."  «hc  repetted.  "So,  at  Iwt.  yott 
are  thinking  of  me." 

"Yes,  I  am  thinking  of  you.  I  am  wondering 
who  you  are,  where  you  came  from  and  why  you  are 
here." 

"I  regret  the  only  explanation  I  am  aUe  to  give  of 
myself,  instead  of  lessening,  would  greatly  increase 
your  wonderment,"  she  said  musingly.  "However,  I 
am  glad  to  know  that  the  who,  where  and  why  of  my 
existence  is  to  you  no  longer  a  matter  of  indifference. 

"Tell  me,  anyway,"  he  pleaded. 

"A  friend  to  everybody,  am  I,"  she  replied  gravely, 
"and  my  dwelling-place  is  everywhere.  To  me  is  given 
the  opening  and  the  closing  of  the  door  to  which  all 
come,  early  or  late,  who  have  sought  to  team  si»ritual 
truths  at  a  material  school." 

Frank  responded  with  a  helpless  shake  of  his  bead 
and  sigh  of  incomprehension. 

"The  crossing  of  the  threshold  of  this  door  by  man's 
own  hand  is  an  unrntatn  venture,"  con^ned  she. 
"Man  may  force  life  out  of  his  body,  but  tfiat  doea 
not  mean  he  will  be  relieved  iVom  responsibility ;  does 
not  assure  him  of  any  better  conditions ;  does  not  guar- 
antee freedom  from  his  troubles,  nor  the  cessaticm  of 
the  agonizing  memwrfes  of  his  mind.  He  may  destragr 
tiw  temple,  but  the  intelligent  control  is  independent 
of  temples.  Whence  it  comes  and  whither  it  goes  no 


The  Unbidden  Guest 


3» 


man  can  telL  He  knows  it  exists,  and  he  exists  because 
of  it.  Of  the  forces  that  are  at  work  in  the  world  to 
which  he  would,  when  life  here  becomes  to  him  intoler- 
able, so  recklessly  and  ignorantly  thrust  himself,  he 
has  no  knowlec^.  He  has  no  fffoof  tiiat  he  shall  be 
immune  from  suffering,  nor  Uiat  the  taking-off  of  one 
dress  may  not  mean  the  putting-on  of  another,  and  that 
the  getting  rid  of  the  self  he  took  with  him  may  not 
be  a  more  difficult  task  than  he  believed." 

'What,  then,  is  man  to  do  with  this  Hie,  this  hide> 
structible  thing  with  which  he  is  endowed?"  asked 
Frank  despairingly.  "Is  he  always  to  be  a  thing  of 
burdens  and  strife?  Is  he  never  to  know,  in  the  course 
of  his  day,  the  where  of  his  being  and  the  why  of  his 
way?" 

"Man  is  slow  to  learn  the  purpose  of  life,"  she  re- 
plied with  a  sad  shake  of  her  head.  "He  has  made  of 
it  an  intricate  problem,  one  which  he  is  unable  to 
solve." 

"And  is  it  not,  too,  an  intricate  problem  to  yoaf 
"Life,  to  me,  is  a  wonderful  thing,  with  its  story  un- 
told. It  is  the  one  thing  which  cannot  be  bought  nor 
cannot  be  sold,  and  is  to  every  man  a  gift  so  precious, 
could  he  but  learn  its  trtiti»  and  know  its  purpose.** 

"Life,  if  not  a  curse,  '3  ctmndeml  everything  else 
but  a  precious  gift  by  a  great  many  people,"  gloomily 
responded  Frank;  "for  well  do  they  know  what  its 


3a 


The  Success  of  Failure 


meaning  shall  be  to  them  in  their  declining  days,  should 
they  live ;  and  that  is  an  inability  to  work  and  a  dreaded 
poverty-stricken  old  age.  In  large  cities  such  instances 
are  not  rare,  and  it  is  nol  turpriiuig  that  peof^  should 
regard  life  as  a  r^;rettaUe  thing,  something  with  which 
they  would  have  dispensed  had  they  been  consulted, 
when  they  are  so  frequently  confronted  with  the  real- 
istic and  ever  depressing  pictures  of  ag-ed  men  and 
wmnen,  whose  years  of  labor  have  left  them  nat^ 
but  a  quavering  voice,  trembling  hands  and  an  uncer- 
tam  step,  eating  the  bread  of  charity.  As  they  view  the 
pictures,  they  are  painfully  aware  that  only  a  few 
short  years  stand  between  them  and  frames  from  which 
Oieir  faces  may  look  out;  for,  labor  as  they  will  and 
deprive  themselves  of  the  present  necessities  as  they 
feel  they  must  to  provide  for  future  demands,  the  fruit 
of  their  labor,  at  times,  barely  suffices  to  meet  their 
daily  needs.  Indeed,  they  feel  they  are  paying  a  big 
price  for  the  privilege  of  Uvmg." 

"The  world,  I  sec,  has  no  use  for  the  falling  leaves," 
she  said,  "and  endeavors  to  forget  they  were  once  the 
buds  of  spring.  Their  beauty  being  gone  and  their 
useftilness  at  an  ei^,  tlwy  are  permitted  to  lie  when 
they  have  fallen  and  to  be  trodden  under  foot,  or,  if  the 
cool  winds  of  autumn  do  not  near  them  to  a  kindliei 
country,  they  are  raked  up  into  a  pile  and  forgotten.' 

"That  is  the  situation,  exactly." 


The  Unbidden  Guest 


33 


"And  what  has  life  meant  to  you  ?"  she  asked  smiling. 

"Life,"  eplied  Frat;!:,  with  a  doleful  tbaiw  ol  Ut 
head,  "has  meant  but  one  thing  to  me." 

"And  what  wai  tint  one  thfog?" 
An  everlasting  struggle  to  get  nowhert." 

"When  you  started  out,  you  meant  to  get  aomewliere 
and  be  somebody,  didn't  you?"  asked  she,  tegarding 
Frank  with  her  big  brown  eyes. 

"I  meant  to  sttccced." 

"And  you  did  not?" 

"No,"  grimly  acknowledged  Frank,  "I  failed." 
"Why  did  you  fail?    Was  it  the  result  of  the 
seddi^?" 

"I  don't  kiKm  what  you  mean,"  replied  Frwik,  ba- 

ing  his  temper  as  he  always  did  when  he  thought  his 
business  integrity  was  questioned.  "I  sought  earnestly, 
honesUy  and  faithfully  to  sue  reed,  and  there,  I  can 
assure  you,  were  no  questionable  methods  in  my 

seeking." 

'Every  life  has  its  own  shadow  and  reflects  what 
it  seeks,"  she  replied.  "The  conditions  under  which 
man  labors  are  the  products  of  his  own  seeking.  lie  is 
forv-ver  striving  for  the  shadow  when  he  might  have 
the  substance.  Things  of  account  he  deems  of  no- 
account,  and  at  the  feet  of  those  of  no-account  he  lays 
the  best  the  world  has  to  give,  himself.  To  his  dead 
gods  he  sacrifices  himself  daily." 


34  The  Success  of  Failure 

"I  must  say,"  impatiently  repUed  Frank,  "it  is  all 
beyond  me." 

"It  is  so  now  and  it  has  been  so  in  the  past,  bat  m 
the  future  it  shall  not  be  so  "  she  replied,  and  her  voice 
rang  with  authority,  which  immediately  silenced  Frank 
and  claimed  his  attention.  "You  are,"  she  went  on, 
"to  learn  of  me.  I  shall  teach  you  to  know  the  things 
that  are  from  the  things  that  are  not  and  to  discern 
the  riches  that  lie  in  poverty  and  the  poverty  that  lies 
in  riches.  Through  me  you  shall  sift  the  chaff  of 
seeming  until  you  find  the  grain  of  meaning.  No  more 
will  the  thought  of  self-destruction  possess  you,  for 
you  will  know  that  life  to  you  is  a  precious  gift,  some- 
thing neither  to  be  abused  nor  to  be  abased,  but  to  be 
understood.  Your  residence,  choice  and  place  of  labor 
you  may  select,  but  from  me  you  are  to  learn  all  the 
lessons  of  life." 

She  finished  speaking  and  rose  from  her  chair. 
Frank  sat  staring  at  her  in  speediless  amazement,  and 
it  was  not  until  her  hand  was  laid  upon  the  handle  of 
the  door  leading  to  the  little  path  which  led  to  the  road 
that  he  found  his  voice  sufficiently  to  stammer  out: 
"It— i»-.incredit>Ie  " 

"You  think  so  now,"  interrupted  she,  "but  as  the 
years  go  by  your  present  belief  will  not  only  becane 
incredible,  but  an  impossibility." 

She  opened  the  door  and  stood  in  tf»  doorway. 


The  Unbidden  Guest 


35 


Frank  joined  her  and  for  several  seconds  they  silently- 
looked  off  into  the  wooded  distance.  She  was  the  first 
to  speak,  and  said  hurriedfy : 

I  must  not  remain  Vaagex,  for  I  am  needed  vise- 
where." 

She  stepped  down  into  the  little  path  and  had  reached 
the  road  before  Frank  recalled  she  had  not  told  him 
her  name.  Hastening  after  her,  he  said : 

"You  have  not  told  me  your  name." 

"The  world  calls  me,  Failure,"  she  said,  smiling 
sadly;  "but  my  name  you  shall  decide  when  you  see 
me  again." 

Frank  stood  and  watdwd  her,  hit  mind  distrat^[fat 

with  many  perplexing  questions,  as  she  went  down  the 
Woods'  Road.  Soon  her  erect  figure  was  lost  to  view 
among  the  trees  and  heavy  foliage;  and  he,  vainly  en- 
deavoring to  unravd  the  snarled  events  of  the  past  few 
hours,  went  back  to  the  ihack. 


CHAPTER  II 


TWO  DOCTORS  AND  A  NUBSB 

"¥T  will  never  do,"  said  Doctor  Gordon  to  Doctor 
1  Ross,  "to  attempt  to  ctirtail  her  activities.  How- 
ever, the  proposition  which  she  submitted  for  my  con- 
sideration last  Monday  I  hardly  believe  will  meet  with 
your  approval." 
"No,  what  was  it?" 

"She  proposes  to  establish  an  instittiticm  which  die 
believes  will  eventually  banish  the  ills  of  man." 

"You  did  not  encourage  her  in  any  such  nonsense, 
I  hope,"  said  Doctor  Ross  sternly.  "She  would  only 
succeed  in  making  herself  ridiculous.  She  hasn't  an 
idea  what  it  would  mean,  and  I  shall  use  all  the  ai^ 
ments  of  which  I  am  capable  to  dissuade  her  fran  at- 
tempting anything  of  the  kind." 

"That  is  how  you  would  feel,  I  knew,"  replied  Doc- 
tor Gordon.  "At  first,  I  felt  very  much  the  same  way 
about  it  But,  upon  re^ctkm,  I  am  not  so  sure  that 
it  might  not  be,  after  all,  a  rather  good  thing.  At  any 
rate,  the  arguments  she  advanced  in  favor  of  the  ar- 
rangement were  very  convincing." 

96 


Two  Doctors  and  a  Nurse 


37 


"I  cannot  think  of  any  that  would  reconcile 
me  to  anything  so  impossible  for  her,"  replied  Doctor 

Ross. 

"She  urged,  for  one  thing— the  truth  of  which  is  evi- 
fletit— the  necessity  for  the  expansion  of  her  acttvtties." 

"Of  course,  you  did  not  fail  to  remind  her,  Gcwdon, 
of  tlie  consequences  of  her  past  activities." 

"You  may  be  sure  I  did  not,  but  she  only  laughed 
and  bade  me  forget,  as  she  was  trying  to  do,  the  ill- 
eflfects  of  her  past  activities.  She  appeared  to  be  very 
anxious  to  obtain  my  approval  of  the  plan  and  to  induce 
me.  by  persuasive  argument,  to  admit  it  was  a  good 
one.  I  told  her  I  preferred,  before  endorsing  or  further 
discussing  its  merits  or  demerits,  to  talk  it  over  witfi 
you.  I  suggested,  too,  that  she  mig^t  pmtmally  sub- 
mit for  your  consideration  and  endorsement  the  reasons 
wliy  she  believed  such  an  arrangement  would  be  to  her 
of  great  benefit." 

"Did  she  agree  to  <fc)  tiiatr 

"'^he  did.  Although,  she  said,  she  knew  it  would 
not ;  e  of  any  use,  for  you  would  nev«r  approve  of  such 

a  venture." 

"And  she  is  right  there,"  replied  Doctor  Ross  de- 
cidedly. 

"You  think,  then,  it  is  entirely  out  of  the  question?" 
queried  Doctor  Gordon.  "Well,  perhaps  it  is." 
"It  certainly  is,"  emphatically  replied  Doctor  Ross. 


38 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"What  possible  reason  she  can  give  for  the  further 
expansion  of  her  activities,  I  am  curious  to  know." 

"Supposing  we  go  over  there,  then,  this  afternoon," 
sug^sted  Doctor  Gordon. 

"All  right,  if  it  is  convenient  for  yoa,"  agreed  Doctor 
Ross. 

"Will  four  o'clock  suit  you?"  inquired  Doctor 
Gordon. 

"Make  it  four-thirty.  I  am  due  at  the  hospital  at  two 
and  do  not  leave  before  four." 

"Very  well,  I  shall  telephone  her  she  may  expect  us 
at  four-thirty,"  said  Doctor  Gordon. 

"Shall  I  call  for  you  or  will  you  call  for  me  at  the 
hospital?"  asked  Doctor  Ross. 

"I  haven't  many  calls  this  afternoon,  so  I  will  call 
for  you." 

"I'll  give  John  the  afternoon  off,  then,"  said  Doctor 
Ross.  "It  will  be  the  first  one  he  has  had  in  a  month." 

"He  will  have  no  objections,  such  being  the  case,  if 
you  make  use  of  my  automobile  this  afternoon,"  said 
Doctor  Gordon  smiling,  and  he  stood  up  and  took  his 
coat  and  hat  from  a  stand  close  by  him. 

"What's  your  hurry?"  asked  Doctor  Ross.  "Stay 

and  take  luncheon  with  me." 

"I  should  like  to.  but  I  can't.   My  days  of  semi-de- 
tached bachelorhood  are  ended  for  this  year." 
"What,  is  Margaret  back?" 


Two  Doctors  and  a  Nurse  39 


"Yes,  and  what's  more,  she  made  me  promise  to 
bring  you  back  to  luncheon  with  me.  So  get  your  coat 
and  hat  and  ccone  akx^." 

"Ill  have  to  call  up  tfie  garage,  first,"  said  Doctor 

Ross. 

"What  is  the  use  of  calling  up  the  garage,  now?" 
asked  Doctor  Gordon.  "John  won't  be  there." 

"That's  so,"  admitted  Doctor  R(»s,  going  over  to 
the  washbowl  and  turning  on  the  cold  and  hot  water 
faucets,  "he  goes  to  lunch  between  twelve  and  one, 
and, "  looking  at  his  watch,  "it  is  now  half-past  twelve. 
I  could  leave  a  message,  I  suppose,"  he  omtinued, 
turning  off  the  water  and  pulling  up  his  ^irt  sleeves 
preparatory  to  washing  his  hands,  "only  he  never  takes 
an  order  from  anyone  but  me,  and  " 

"At  one  forty-five,"  supplemented  Doctor  Gordon, 
"he  would  be  fbund  seated  in  the  machine  in  front  of 
the  door  waiting  for  orders." 

"That's  just  it,"  assented  Doctor  Ross,  replacing  his 
white  linen  coat  with  one  of  blue  serge,  "John  does  not 
believe  in  taking  chances." 

"Well,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Doctor  Gordmi,  stepping 
toward  the  door,  "if  you  don't  hurry  we  will  run  a 
chance  of  getting  a  good,  warm  meal  ai^  a  pleasant 
reception  from  Margaret." 

"I'll  be  with  you  in  just  a  moment,"  said  Doctor 
Ross,  reaching  fbr  his  hat  "But  I  must  speak  to  Mn. 


40 


The  Success  of  Failure 


Archer  first,"  and  he  pressed  a  button  at  the  side  of  his 
desk,  which  summoned  from  an  inner  office  a  young 
wwnan  attired  in  the  white  uniform  of  a  nurse.  She 
acknowledged  with  a  smile  and  a  graceful  inclination 
of  her  head  Doctor  Grt>rdon's  pleasant  greeting,  and 
then  looked  inquiringly  at  her  employer, 

"Mrs.  Archer,"  said  he,  "kindly  inform  Mrs.  Bar- 
stow  I  shall  not  be  in  for  luncheon." 

"Very  well,  doctor,"  she  replied. 

As  they  were  going  out  of  the  front-door,  he  turned 
and  said : 

"I  shall  not  be  in  before  six;  you  may  have  Ronald 
over,  if  you  wish." 

"Thank  you,  doctor.  You  are  very  good,"  she  said, 
following  them  to  close  the  door.  As  they  took  their 
seats  in  the  automobile  they  raised  their  hats  and,  as 
she  closed  the  door,  a  happy  laugh  came  from  her  lips 
at  the  thought  of  spending  the  aftemooo  with  her  boy, 
and  she  ran  down  basemoit  sUurs  to  the  dining- 
room. 

After  conveying  the  doctor's  message  to  the  waitress, 
Mrs.  Archer  greeted  with  a  cheery  nod  and  smile  the 
other  diners  at  the  taWe,  two  young  men  and  three 
young  women,  who  were  discussing  in  a  somewhat 
animated  manner  women's  suffrage.  Not  wishing  to 
be  drawn  into  the  conversation,  she  picked  up  a  medical 
Jcwmal  lying  by  her  plate  and  tore  off  the  wrapper,  and 


Two  Doctors  and  a  Nurse 


41 


in  a  very  few  moments  was,  a|>pareiit!y,  absorbed  in  the 

peru;  al  of  its  pages. 

Sitting  there,  dressed  in  her  white  uniform,  she  made 
rather  an  attractive  picture.  Her  hair,  a  light-brown, 
was  loosely  taken  back  and  held  in  neat  braids  firmly 
to  t:ie  back  of  her  head  with  long,  bone  hair-pins.  Her 
gray-blue  eyes,  surmounted  by  a  broad,  low  forehead, 
were  particularly  serious  in  their  expression ;  her  nose, 
indicative  of  her  ancestry,  turned  up  slightly,  and  her 
mouth.  ?et  above  a  somewhat  pointed  chin,  was  large. 
Her  skin,  though  fair,  lacked  the  rosiness  attributed  to 
the  children  of  Erin. 

As  the  meal  advanced,  the  other  persons  seated  at  the 
table,  one  by  one,  arose  and  left  the  dining-room,  and 
Mrs.  Archer  was  left  alone.  Thrownig  the  journal, 
which  rhe  was  pretending  to  read,  to  one  side,  she 
pushed  back  her  plate  and  hastily  drank  the  mouthful 
of  coffee  remaining  in  her  cup  and  hurried  upstairs. 
There  were  a  number  of  things  die  had  to  do  before 
she  could  summon  Martha  by  telephone  to  brhiir 
Ronald  over,  and  she  wanted  to  spend  as  much  time 
with  ],im  as  she  possibly  could,  for  it  was  not  often, 
now,  they  spent  an  afternoon  together.  Her  hurrying 
feet  had  barely  reached  the  top  step  of  the  stairs  when 
the  telephone-bell  rang.  She  took  down  the  receiver 
anfl  held  it  to  her  ear  and,  in  response  to  her  gentle 
"Haiio  r  '  the  voice  of  Doctor  Ross  said : 


42 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"Mrs.  Archerr 
"Yes,  doctor." 

"Tell  John,  when  he  comet  around,  I  telephoned 
you  he  might  have  tht  afternoon  oflF  and  that  I  shall 
not  need  the  car  before  eight  o'clock  to-night." 

"Very  well,  doctor,"  she  replied  a  trifle  reluctantly. 
"But  you  know  how  John  objects  to  taking  orders 
from  anyone  but  you." 

"I  know,"  he  answered ;  "but  he  was  not  to  be  found 
at  the  garage  when  I  called  up  a  few  mmnents  ago." 

"I'll  tell  him,  then." 

"By  the  way,"  he  continued,  "if  you  do  not  object, 
try  and  prevail  upon  him  to  take  Rmnld  for  a  Uttte 
spin." 

"You  are  very  kind,  doctor,"  she  said,  very 
much  pleased.  "That  will  be  splendid,  he  gets  out  so 
little." 

"That's  what  I  thot^t,"  he  replied.  "Goodby." 
She  answered  back,  "Goodby"  and  hung  up  the 

receiver. 

Glancing  at  the  clock,  she  found  it  was  now  fifteen 
minutes  past  one.  In  half-an-hour  John  would  be 
around.  She  must  tdqrfKwe  Martha  at  once  to  get 
Rmiald  ready  and  bring  him  right  over.  John,  of 
course,  could  call  for  him,  but,  motherlike,  she  wanted 
to  assure  herself  that  he  was  sufficiently  wrapped  be- 
fore going  for  his  ride.    She  again  look  down  tiie 


Two  Doctors  <md  a  Nurst 


43 


receiver  and  gave  the  number,  and  almost  immediately 
a  voice  in  response,  said:  "Creighton." 

"Kindly,"  siw  reqttttted,  "connect  me  with  apart* 
nient  twenty-six." 

There  was  a  faint  btizziiig,  and  then  Mardia't  voice, 
asking.  "Who  is  it?" 

"It  is  I,  Martha.  Get  Ronald  ready  as  quickly  as 
you  can  and  bring  htm  over  to  the  c^lce.  Jcdm  is 
going  to  take  him  out  &»'  a  rkle  in  tiie  doctor's 
automobile." 

"Won't  that  be  fine !"  delightedly  exclaimed  Martha. 

"It  will,  indeed.  Let  me  speak  to  him." 

Very  soon,  the  gentle  voice  of  a  child  came  over  the 
wire,  saying,  ''Hallo,  mannnar 

"HaUo,  darlii^,"  she  rqdied.  "Hurry  up  and  let 
Martha  dress  you,  for  you  are  to  tpead  tiie  iJtnnooo 
with  your  mother." 

She  could  hear  the  childish  exclamation  of  delight, 
the  merry  laugh  and  die  clapping  of  tiny  hands  as 
Martha  Ufted  him  down  from  the  ttocL 

"Goodby,  little  son,"  she  murmured  fondly,  as  shi" 
hung  up  the  recetver  and  went  back  to  her  w<ak  in  the 
inner  office. 

The  last  bottle  had  been  put  back  in  its  place  and  the 
last  instrument  leaned  and  put  away  when  John, 
seated  in  &t  cat,  ttopped     ittmit  ct  ^  6o».  He 


44 


The  Success  of  Failurt 


glanced  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left  but  looked 
straight  ahead.    To  get  his  attention,  she  walked  to 
the  window  and  rapped  gently  on  the  pane.  He  did  not 
turn  his  head,  and  thinking,  perhaps,  he  had  not  heard, 
she  rapped  louder,  but  without  effect,  for  he  still  con- 
tinued to  retain  his  dignified  attitude.   Fearful  of  at- 
tracting the  unwelcome  notice  of  others  if  she  kept  on 
rapping,  she  left  the  window  and  went  into  the  hall 
and.  opening  the  street-door,  called  aoftly,  "John,"  but 
he  either  could  not,  or  would  not,  hear.  Indignant  at 
being  compelled-to  appear  in  the  street  in  her  uniform, 
she  ran  down  the  steps  and  in  no  gentle  tone  of  voice 
demanded  of  John  what  he  meant  b     :tting  in  the 
automobile  ignoring  her  raps  on  the  window-pane  and 
her  call  from  the  door? 

Without  turning  his  head  John  said  with  respectful 
emphasis,  "I  heard  you  rap  and  I  heard  vou  call,  but 
I  take  no  raps  and  I  take  no  calls  from'  a  nyone  but 
from  the  person  whose  servant  I  am.** 

"Nevertheless,"  replied  Mrs.  Archer,  striving  to  con- 
trol her  impatience,  "I,  too,  must  obey  orders.  Doctor 
Ross  telephoned  me  nearly  an  hour  ago  that  he  would 
not  need  the  car  before  eight  o'clock  tonight  and  that 

you  might  have  the  afternoon  off,  but  " 

"I  take  no  messages,  I  tell  you,**  interrupted  John, 
"from  anyone  but  my  master." 
"He  also  said,  before  taking  the  automobile  back  to 


Two  Doctors  and  a  Nurse 


45 


the  garage,  you  should  take  Rraiald  out  far  a  short 
ride,"  continued  she. 

"No  man,  wcnnan  or  child,"  replied  John  decisively, 
"puts  a  foot  in  this  ear  mless  my  master,  Mmsetl,  or- 
ders me  to  let  them  do  so." 

"Very  well,"  retorted  Mrs.  Archer  haughtily,  "I 
shall  report  your  behaviour  to  the  doctor  when  he  re- 
turns at  six." 

John  did  not  deign  to  reply,  and  Mrs.  Arcl»r,  her 

throat  contracting  and  her  eyes  filling  with  tears,  re- 
traced her  steps.  Had  she  not  fully  realized  the  futility 
of  attempting  to  urge  John  to  carry  out  his  master's 
instructions  when  they  were  not  delivered  to  him  per- 
sonally, she  would  have  tried  to  prevail  upon  him  to 
give  Ronald  his  ride.  She  knew  it  would  be  useless 
and  the  doctor,  when  he  arrived  home  that  night  at 
six  o'clock,  would  find  him  sitting  motionless,  waiting 
for  orders,  out  there  in  the  car.  She  was  sorry,  now, 
she  had  mentkmed  the  ride  to  Martiia  and  prayed  fer- 
vently that  die  had  not  said  my^mg  aboot  it  to 
Rcmald,  knowing  how  disappointed  he  would  be.  He 
was  not  like  other  children,  this  little  son  of  iiers,  for 
so  many  of  the  games  and  amusements  belonging 
to  their  world  had  no  part  in  his.  Little  Ronald  was 
blind.  The  occasional  afternoons  spent  with  his 
mother,  his  daily  waflc  wiUi  Marliia  in  iSxt  park  or  a 


46 


The  Success  of  Failun 


trip  with  her  on  the  can  were  regarded  by  him  wMi 

wonder  and  delight. 

Mrs.  Archer  adored  this  boy  of  hers  and  he,  in  turn, 
worshipped  his  mother;  and  although  the  little  chap 
could  not  tee  her,  she  examined  her  face  critically  be- 
fore the  mirror  in  the  haU.  She  straightened  her  atp, 
which  the  wind  had  set  awry,  smoothed  back  the  few 
straying  strands  of  hair  and  wiped  her  tear-filled  eyes. 
All  traces  of  tears,  she  decided,  must  be  at  once  re- 
moved, or  his  tiny  hands— with  their  tender,  lingering 
touch— in  their  passing  over  her  face  would  surely 
find  them.   So  she  passed  quickly  into  the  office  and, 
turning  the  cold  water  faucet,  permitted  the  water  to 
flow  until  the  bowl  was  a  little  more  than  half-full. 
Then  she  bathed  her  face  in  it,  after  which  she  patted 
it  dry  with  a  soft  towel.  The  bell  rang  as  she  hung  up 
the  towel,  and  she  ran  to  the  door  and  threw  it  open, 
and  into  her  arms  she  gathered  her  one  great  posses- 
sion, her  boy.  She  dismissed  Martha  and  told  her  to 
call  for  him  at  five  o'clock.  Then  she  ckwed  the  door 
and  carried  Ronald  into  the  inner  office  and  sank  with 
him  into  a  large,  comfortable  arm-chair.   As  she  pro- 
ceeded to  remove  his  outer  garments,  he  laid  his  little 
hands  protestingly  upon  hers  and,  in  his  quaint,  old- 
fashioned  way,  asked : 

"Am  I  not  going  out  for  a  ride  with  John  in  the  doc- 
tor's 'aunobile,'  mother?" 


Two  Doctors  tmd  a  Nmru 


47 


"Not  this  afternoon,  darling,"  replied  Mn.  Archer, 
releasing  her  hands  and  tMag  off  his  hat  and  Idssii^ 

the  top  of  his  curly  head, 

"Why  not.  mother?"  asked  the  child,  raising  a 
quivering  little  face  to  hers.  "Mart'a — said — you — 
told— *er— John — was — going—to— take— me—fof  > 
ride  " 

"So  mother  thought,  dear,  but  John  says  he  cannot 
do  it."  answered  his  mother,  stifling  a  sigh  as  she  stood 
him  down  by  her  side  and  took  off  his  coat  which, 
with  his  hat  and  gloves,  die  laid  on  a  diair  nearby. 

"Why  can't  he,  mother?"  wailed  the  child,  as  he 
climbed  back  into  her  lap  and  put  two  little,  frail  annt 
about  her  neck  and  laid  a  wet  cheek  against  hers. 

"Mother  does  not  know  just  why,"  replied  she,  rais- 
ing the  teu'-ftained  face  and  kissing  it  tenderly.  " Jdlm 
has  queer  notions  about  some  things." 

Nothing  more  was  said  for  several  minutes.  Ronald, 
his  face  buried  in  his  mother's  neck,  was  perfectly 
still;  and  save  for  the  passing  of  her  hand  over  his 
hair,  ui  the  sootiitng  faduon  nwtfiers  have,  Mrs. 
Archer  was  as  motionless.  This  little  chap's  sorrow 
and,  likewise,  his  joys  were  all  hers,  and  she  felt  keenly 
his  failure  to  realize  the  pleasure  of  the  anticipated 
ride.  However,  ^e  was  not  going  to  permit  it  to  mar 
his  whole  afternoon,  wo,  tmekag  her  head,  she  said 
playfully  in  h»  ear: 


48 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"Come  now,  honey,  you  are  not  going  to  let  your 
disappointment  spoil  your  afternoon  with  mother,  are 
you?" 

Ronald  responded  by  stnig^tening  up  and  with- 
drawing his  arms  from  around  her  neck.  The  doleful 
face,  with  its  sightless,  blue  eyes,  brightened,  and  the 
mouth,  with  its  trembling  lips,  extended  into  a  quiver- 
ing anile.  Lovingly  his  little  hands,  with  tiieir  deli- 
cate touch,  passed  over  her  face,  and,  apparently,  he 
was  satisfied  with  what  he  found  there  for,  as  he  left 
a  birdlike  kiss  upon  her  lips,  he  said : 

"You  are  very  bootiful,  mother." 

"Motiwr  is  glad  yov  thmk  so,  little  son/'  she  fcmdly 
responded.  "But  what  shall  I  do  to  amine  you  diis 
afternoon?" 

"Tell  me  a  story,  mother,"  he  replied,  nestling  down 
in  her  arms.  "Tell  me  about  the  bootiful  things  which 

I  cannot  see,  tbt  big  trees  and  the  pretty  flowers  

You  know,  everything." 

His  mother  drew  him  closer  to  her  and  laid  his  light- 
brown,  curly  head  against  her  breast.  Then  she  pr> 
ceeded  with  her  story  and,  childlike,  in  the  telling  his 
disappdntment  was  forgotten. 


CHAPTER  III 


THE  DOCTORS  CALL  UPON  DOROTHY 

PKOMPTLY  at  four  o'clock  Doctor  Gordon,  seated  in 
his  automobile,  arrived  at  the  hospital.  Five  mn. 
utes  later  Doctor  Ross  took  a  seat  beside  him,  and  the 
car,  joining  the  dense  traffic  of  countless  automobiles, 
cabs,  tmcki  tad  numerous  other  vehicles  of  every  kind 
and  description,  began  to  slowly  wead  its  way  west- 
ward. 

It  would  be  difficult  for  an  observer  watching  the 
two  men  as  they  sat  conversing  to  determine  from  their 
appearance  the  difference,  if  any,  in  their  ages.  Doug- 
las Gordon  pottessed  tiie  face  of  the  optunkt  The 
merry  blue  eyes,  set  well  back  under  heavy  dark  eye- 
brows and  o'er-topped  by  a  forehead  of  extraordinary 
height  and  breadth,  looked  out  brightly  and  hopefully 
upon  everybody  and  everything.   The  mouth,  above 
which  was  a  large  and  decidedly  prominent  nose,  was 
exceedingly  pleasing  in  its  expression,  and  disclosed, 
when  smiling,  an  excellent  set  of  strong,  white  teeth. 
The  chin  was  incUned  to  be  square,  and  was  reallv  the 
only  severe  Mdng  thbig  about  the  face.  The  skin 

49 


The  Success  of  FaUure 


had  the  healthy  color  which  is  attributed  to  those  who 
spend  the  greater  part  of  their  time  out  in  the  open  air, 
and  his  great  head,  supported  by  a  rather  substantial 
neck,  was  thickly  covered  with  reddish-brown  hair.  In 
height  and  weight  he  was  slightly  above  the  average, 
and  his  years  were  forty,  some  years  older  than  his 
l»t>ther-in-law,  Doctor  Ross,  but  there  were  few  who 
could  be  made  to  believe  it. 

In  appearance  Robert  Ross  was  decidedly  unlike  hh 
brother-in-law,  and  he  viewed  the  world,  its  doings  and 
its  people  from  a  somewhat  different  standpoint.  He 
was  tall  and  slender  and  his  shoulders,  tmlike  Doctor 
Gordon'?,  stooped  sligfhtly  forward.  His  face,  with  its 
high  cheek  bones,  was  thin  and  long,  and  tlie  pale, 
dark  skin  which  covered  it  did  not  suggest  robustness 
The  eyes,  set  wide  apart  under  heavy  black  eye-brows, 
were  big  and  black,  and  gave  the  rather  disquieting 
impression  when  their  gloomy,  speculative  gaze  was 
directed  at  one  that  not  only  were  they  inspecting  the 
physical  defect,  or  defects,  but  the  moral  ones  were 
being  scrutinized  and  mentally  passed  upon,  also.  The 
forehead  was  high  and  receding,  and  the  finely-shaped 
head  was  covered  with  thick,  black  hair,  through  which 
a  white  one  could  he  seen  here  and  there.  The  nose 
was  long,  btit  well-formed,  and  the  largeness  of  the 
mouth  was  redeemed  by  the  pletsant,  if  a  trifle  torioas, 
smile  which  it  wore  when  its  owner  gfreeted  sn  tc> 


The  Doctors  Call  Upon  Dorothy  51 

quaintance  or  friend.  The  finii,  square  chin  indkated 

its  possessor  might  be  depended  upon  to  perform  any- 
thing which  he  deemed  it  worth  while  to  undertake. 

Doctor  Gordon,  whose  sunny  nature  so  endeared 
him  to  his  patients  and  fellow-practitioners,  had  an 
unfaltering  faith  in  the  inherent  good  of  hnmanity  and 
in  the  final  eliminatioi  of  its  ever-appearing  evils,  and 
believed  the  social  leavening  elements  of  society  would 
eventually  produce  conditions  wholly  conducive  to  the 
well-being  of  mankind.  In  this  respect  he  differed 
greatly  from  his  brodier-fai-law,  for  Doctor  Row  had 
little,  if  any,  faith  in  human-kind,  and  regarded  society 
as  a  rather  uncertain  structure.  He  had  scant  patience 
with  people  who  lived  in  the  past  or  dreamed  of  the 
future.  It  was  the  things  of  today,  and  not  thos?  of 
yesterday  or  tomorrow,  whidi  bamtM  him,  ami  ht 
did  not  believe  &i  wtHdag  for  fotwt  reme&s  Incorrect 
present  ills. 

Despite  the  dissimilarity,  however,  the  friendship 
existing  between  tiie  two  mm  was  no  common  one, 
and  there  was  littte  ia  the  fifo  of  one  wfaiefa  did  not 
interest  the  other. 

When  the  car  left  the  street  and  turned  into  the 
avenue.  Doctor  Ross,  having  finished  stating,  in  re- 
sponse to  Doctor  Gordoe's  inquiry,  the  number  of 
patients  who  had  applied  at  the  clinic  that  alfemiooe 
for  treatment  and  citing  some  ol  the  toteiesUag  caaei, 


p  The  Success  of  Failure 

lapsed  into  silence  and  gazed  gloomily  off  up  tiw 
crowded  avenue.    His  brother-in-Uw  w«  weU  «^ 
quainted  with  his  quiet  moods  and  tocw  it  would  be 
futae  to  introduce  any  new  topic  of  conversation,  so 
leaving  him  to  his  thoughts  he  sat  silently  lookmg  out. 
noting  and  mentally  commenting  upon  the  numerous 
objecte  of  interest  as  they  passed,  and  gtvmg  an  occa- 
^  giimce  at  Ae  varyii^  faces  of  the  hurrymg 
crowd,  of  people  passing  and  repassing  each  other  on 
S;:"  way  n'orTh  and  south.   In  less  than  half-anW 
the  automobile  drew  up  in  front  of  a  large,  red-bnck 

we  we.  Wdce  up.  Ross."  said  Doctor  Gordon, 
rising  and  «tepi»ng  out  upon  the  sidewalk. 

"So  I  see"  replied  Doctor  Ross,  getting  slowly  up 
and  following  Doctor  Gordon  through  the  entrance  ^ 
the  "Bentley  Apartments."  They  ascended  m  the  el^ 
vator  to  the  fotirA  fioor.  where  they  ahghteo,  and  a 
few  short  steps  brought  them  to  the  door  of  the  apart 
ment  on  the  right.  In  response  to  themg     ^he  bell, 
a  little  lady,  attired  neatly  in  black,  stood  m  the  door- 
way. White  linen,  hemstitched  bands  which  covered 
tiie  collar  and  cuffs  of  her  gown,  slightly  relieved  its 
^berness.  Smiling  brightly  in  greeting,  she  stretched 
out  a  hand  to  each  and  drew  them  m  and  closed  tl« 

"^Ts  she  led  the  way  to  Ae  small,  but  coaly  furnished 


The  Doctors  Call  Upon  Dorothy  53 


sitting-room,  she  asked,  smiling  mischievously  up  at 
Doctor  Ross,  "Have  you  come  up  to  scold  me,  Bob?" 

"Hardly  that,  Dorothy,"  he  replied,  looking  down 
into  the  twinkling,  brown  eyes  with  his  grave,  black 
ones.  "I  have  come  up  to  try  and  dissuade  you,  if  I 
can,  from  attempting  anything  like  a  boarding-house." 

"But  it  isn't  going  to  be  a  boarding-house.  Bob !" 

"What  is  it  going  to  be,  then?"  he  asked,  placing  his 
hat  on  the  uWe  and  seating  hjmself  beside  ber  on  the 
couch. 

"A  home,"  she  replied  emphatically. 

'What  do  you  mean  by  a  home,  Dorothy?"  asked 
Doctor  Gordon,  sinking  into  the  commodious,  lea&eir- 
cushioned  arm-chair  by  the  WMnkw. 

"I  mean,  Douglas,"  she  replied  srailiag,  "a  home- 
living  place." 

"It  is  possible,  Dorothy,"  said  Doctor  Ross,  rec:ard- 
ing  his  shoes  intently,  "in  the  establishing  of  this  liome- 
living-place'  to  unknowit^  dimimte  aO  that  may 
mean  a  hcane." 

It  is  so  like  you  to  think  of  that.  Bob,"  replied  she, 
laying  a  small,  white  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"And  that  is  something  well  worth  your  consi<tera- 
tion,  Dorothy,"  said  Doctor  Gordon.  "Howevwr,  go 
ahead  and  tell  Bob  just  what  you  wish  to  do." 

"I  propose,"  she  replied,  wrinkling  up  her  smooth, 
white  forehead,  "to  make  conditions  livable  for  all. 


I  54  The  Success  of  Failure 

Some  of  the  children  of  men  have  too  much,  others  too 
little,  and  for  that  reason  I  intend  to  make  a  more 
evt.1  distribution.  To  do  this,  I  shall  introduce  my 
idea  of  the  'home-living  place'  and  the  great  need  of  its 
furtherance,  and  shall  encourage  all  who  will  to  make 
their  home  with  me.  Applicants,  of  course,  will  be 
expected  to  furnish  references  as  to  their  good  faith." 

"References!  What  is  the  good  of  references!" 
impatiently  demanded  Doctor  Ross.  "They  are  not 
always  to  be  depended  uptwi ;  nor  can  they  always  be 
accepted  as  a  guarantee  of  the  individual's  honesty  of 
purpose.  You'll  want  something  more  than  refer- 
ences, Dorothy,  to  make  this  venture  a  success." 

"And  what  is  the  essential  'something,'  Bob?" 

"A  greater  knowledge  of  the  world  and  the  needs  of 
its  people,"  he  replied,  smiling  slightly,  "of  which,  al- 
though you  won't  admit  it,  you  are  wofully  ignorant" 

"Do  you  think  so,  Bob?"  she  asked  teasingly. 
"Sometimes  I  wonder  if  that  is  not  true  of  you." 

"It  could  hardly  be  posnUe,  could  it,  considering  toy 
profession  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  replied  dubiously.  "Anyway,  I 
think  you  are  a  bit  mistaken  in  believing  that  I  am  so 
deplorably  ignorant" 

"You  have  a  bowii^-acquaintaace,  Dorothy,  but  I 
am  positive  you  have  not  a  visiting  one  with  the  worid," 
replied  the  doctor. 


The  Doctors  Call  Upon  Dorothy 


55 


"Oh.  I  don't  know,  Bob,"  she  replied  laughing,  "in 
the  years  spent  traveling  around  thi«  old  globe  I  picked 
up  a  tittle  knowledge  and  became  somewhat  worldly- 
wise." 

"True,  you  have  traveled  and  visited  many  foreign 
countries  and  rubbed  elbows  with  their  strange  chil- 
dren, but  you  have  nevei  given,  I  am  sure,  any  serious 
consideratkm  to  the  conditions  under  which  they  live." 

"That  is  true.  Bob,"  acquiesced  she.  "And  for  that 
very  reason  I  think  my  proposed  undertaking  is  an 
exceUent  one.  Through  it,  perhaps,  I  shall  gain  the 
knowledge  whidi  you  OUnk  I  lack,  and  through  it  be 
ahte  to  lighten  the  burdttii  and  hrighten  the  Uves  ol  the 
world's  workers." 

"Not  so,  but  you  will  wish  as  time  goes  on  that  it 
were  possible  to  close  your  ears  to  the  constant  lament*- 
tkms  ol  the  wofld't  children."  i  ^ 

"What  makes  yon  so  penimtstic  about  my  under- 
taking, Bob?"  .  „ 
"Your  present  total  unfitness,  Dorothy,  that  is  all. 
"Why  not  make  your  home  wiA  Margaret  and  me?" 
asked  Doctor  Gordon.  "You  know  we  are  very  anx- 
ious to  have  you.  This  IMag  by  yourself  is,  by  no 
means,  good  for  you." 
"I  know,"  replied  Dorothy,  "and  it  is  very  good  of 

you  to  want  me." 
"But      wcm't  come,  di,  Dorotfiy?" 


The  Success  of  Fctilure 


"No,  Douglas,"  replied  she,  gravely  shaking  her 
head,  "I  have  decided  to  live  my  life  serving  and  to 
endeavor  to  know  the  working  world  and  its  people 
better." 

"Very  well,  Dorothy,"  said  Doctor  Gordon  gently, 
"I  trust  the  knowledge  gained  will  be  worth  the 
serving."  ^ 

"I  think  it  will,"  said  Doctor  Ross.  "The  world  is 
iK»t  such  a  bad  plac^  after  all,  and  I  am  half-inclined  to 
believe  if  the  knowledge  she  imparts  to  the  student  is 
not  always  the  best,  it  is,  perhaps,  as  much  the  fault  of 
the  scholar  as  of  the  school." 

"You  mean,"  queried  Dorothy,  "the  scholar  is  to 
Uame  for  tiie  schod 

"No,  for  what  he  learns  there." 

"From  what  source  do  you  expect  to  get  the  people 
whom  you  intend  to  occupy  this  'home-living  place' 
witii  you  ?"  asked  Doctor  Gordon. 

"Tht  newspapers." 

"Why  not  include  the  Workers'  League?"  asked 

Doctor  Ross. 

"So  you  are  willing  to  make  a  suggestion,  Bob?" 

"Nevertheless,  Dorothy,"  said  Doctw  Ross  gravely, 
"I  want  it  understood  that  I  utterly  disapprove  of  ^ 
whole  plan.  I  do  not  like  it  at  all,  and  wish  it  were 
possible  to  dissuade  you  from  attempting  anything  of 
the  kind.  But  as  you  are  not  to  be  deterred  from  your 


The  Doctors  Coil  Ufnm  DoroHty 


57 


purpose,  I  shall  say  no  more  about  it,  but  leave  to  the 
future  the  disclosing  of  the  folly  or  wiidom  of  yoar 
decision.'* 

"Dear  old  Bob,"  said  Dorothy  fently.  '*Whtt  a  good 
friend  you  are." 

"And  am  I  never  to  become  anything  more  than  that 
to  you,  Dorothy?** 

"Hush  "  ami  tint  glanced  meamng^y  at  the  occupant 
of  the  chair  by  the  window  whose  attention  for  the 
moment  was  attracted  by  something  he  saw  in  the  street 
below. 

"Never  mind  him,  tel!  me.'* 

"Iton't,  Bd),"  pleaded  she,  raising  troubled  eyes  to 
his  gloomy  ones.  "Don't  look  like  that.  Rest  assured, 
I  shall  have  to  call  upon  you,  again  and  again,  to  help 
me  cross  my  bridges,  in  the  crossing  of  which  I  hope  to 
learn  somedifaig  of  ^e  rtiuctureg  and  Hie  caote  of 
their  building." 

"What  is  that  about  bridges?"  asked  Doctor  Gor- 
don, withdrawing  his  eyes  from  the  street  and  looking 
enquiringly  at  Dorothy. 

"Oh,"  die  replied,  laughing,  **!  wat  |int  t^n^r  Bob 
I  should,  in  a&  probabilily,  need  him  to  help  me  cron 
my  bridges." 

"Time  enough  to  think  of  crossing  bridges  when  you 
come  to  than,  Dorothy,"  cheerily  responded  Doctor 
Gordon.  "But  go  and  put  oo  your  hit  and  ooi^  lor  I 


58 


The  Success  of  Failure 


am  going  to  take  you  back  with  us  in  the  auttxnobite. 

Margaret  is  home,  and  " 

"I  know,  she  telephoned  me,"  similingly  interrupted 
Dorothy,"  her  big,  brown  eyes  shining  as  she  rose  and 
took  from  the  mantel-piece  at  her  right  a  small,  plainly- 
trimmed  hat  which  she  placed  upon  her  head,  glancing 
meanwhile  into  the  mirror  while  she  fattened  it  se- 
curely to  her  heavy  hair  with  two  long  hat-pins. 

While  she  was  thus  occupied,  Doctor  Ross  rose  to 
his  feet  and  from  the  back  of  a  chair  took  a  long  coat, 
which  he  opened  out  and  held  while  she  sl^>ped  her 
•lender  arms  into  its  sleeves.  She  thanked  him  and 
drew  the  coat  more  closely  around  her. 

"Did  Margaret  tell  you,  when  she  called  you  up, 
Dorothy,"  inquired  Doctor  Gordon,  "that  she  intended 
to  keep  your  over  night?" 

"Ob,  yes,'*  repUed  Dorodiy,  with  a  nod  of  her  head. 
"There  is  my  grip  over  there,"  and  she  pointed  to  a 
comer  of  the  room  near  the  door. 

Doctor  Gordon  rose  and  took  immediate  possession  of 
the  grip  and,  after  the  usual  examinaticm  of  windows 
to  see  that  all  were  securely  locked  and  that  nothing 
was  amiss  with  the  lock  of  the  door  leading  into  the 
apartment,  they  proceeded  on  their  way. 


CHAPTER  IV 


DOBOTRY,  nn  MBW  APnJCANT,  AND  A  CAIX  PBOM 
MM.  COaDOVt 

DOROTHY,  at  the  beginning  of  our  story,  was  at  the 
age  when  me  forgets  one's  years.  1^  was  (me  of 
a  large  family  whose  members,  as  iSaey  grew  vp,  sepa- 
rated and  made  their  homes  in  every  country  of  the 
globe.  Dorothy  made  hers  in  the  United  States  of 
America,  and  was  for  a  time  the  prot^e  of  the  father 
of  Margaret  Gordon  and  of  hier  adopted  firodier, 
Robert  Ross.  However,  th^ir  inability  to  agree  upon 
many  of  the  important  issues  of  life  brought  about  their 
partial  separation.  For  instance,  their  understanding 
of  the  meaning  of  the  word  "service"  was  totally  at 
variance.  Dc»ofliybdtevedfertitq)|^d  to  everymie, 
irrespective  of  birth,  condition  or  place,  and  this  belief 
she  carried  out  in  her  own  daily  life.  She  was  bom 
to  serve,  and  "Bom  to  Serve"  was  her  motto.  "Never 
ask  anotluir  to  do  what  you  would  not  care  to  do  your- 
self," was  her  fovorite  prtcepL  Whereas,  Mai^ret 
Gordon's  acceptation  of  the  mraning  was  oittrely  dif- 
ferent. "If,"  said  she,  "servitt  can  be  procured  for 

» 


6o 


The  Success  of  Failure 


mmty,  or  otherwise,  why  should  I  serve  ?"  She  changed 
the  old  adage  to  read,  "Never  do  for  yourself  what  \  mi 
can  get  others  to  do  for  you."    Such  an  acceptali.>n 
was  imixjssible  to  Dorothy,  and  she  found  Margaret's 
questioning  of  "Why  do  you  tire  yourself  out  doing 
this  ?"  or  "Why  don't  you  get  somebody  to  do  that  for 
you?"  and  "Why  do  you  trouble  yourself  doiiv^  foi 
otliers  what  they  would  not  lift  a  finger  to  do  for  you?'' 
particularly  irritating,  and  were.  Aft  consictered,  as 
tnterlerence  wiA  her  liberties.  Doctor  Ross  differed 
from  them  both  in  his  belief  that  "service"  without 
"love"  was  naught.    This  view  of  "service  Dorothy 
could  not  accept,  and  Margaret  preferred  to  ignore  it 
altogether. 

AHhot^  Awt,  Dorothy  did  not  ai  ear  so.  Her 
erect  and  tmconscious  dignity  of  bearir  and  her  light- 
brown  hair  piled  high  upon  her  hec=  ,  gave  the  im- 
pression that  she  was  much  taller.  T  le  expression  of 
her  face,  whkli  waa  of  greal  beauty  and  of  wooderfta 
strength,  was  mostly  tnuMptil,  and  the  smooth,  brc«d 
forehead  rarely  ever  wore  a  fro\.'n.  The  big,  brown 
eves  looked  out  quietly  and  fearlessly  upon  the  world 
and  its  people.  The  nose  was  faultless  and  the  mouth 
and  chin  perfect  The  slein  was  pak  and  lacked  the 
requisite  colorit^  to  make  Im  lace  the  most  beai^ful 
<Hie  in  the  world. 

In  the  securing  of  proper  quarters  for  the  estaUish- 


Dorothy,  the  Nm  AfpUcmt,  and  o  Catt  6i 


inj^  of  her  home  liv-ng  place.  Dorothy  permitted  rry 
I  ttle  time  to  elapse  irter  the  doctors'  visit,  atid  amoitg 
the  many  appK^ants  who  applied  for  a^ittsiM  *M 
FranUin  HKMBimm.  Doro^  was  bu^  «^W^ed  o« 
morning  in  ctutwn  WtflldiiiK«  wImi  BuIIib,  ^  coloffii 
maid  of  all  w(  ?  .  ,  announced  r 

A  gentlenia."  to  see  you.  Miss  1  ichardson." 

Very  well,  Bertha, '  replied  IkmAy  vm^bom  nas- 
ing  her  eyes  from  ^  enrtatn.  "AA  Mai  tt^  tMs 
way." 

i  did.  ma'am,  he's  right  here." 

Doro»hy  glanced  up  quickly  and     war    i  of 
medium  height,  with  hat  m  hand,  maa^g  to  lae  r  «r 
way.  **H«p«49-yott-iB?**      nid  frfenaa^. 
yon  coine  in  and  sit  down?" 

"Tliank  you,"  he  replied,  remain   g  v    re  he  stoc  ' 
"it  is  liardly  worth  while.    I  was   lire     J  hert 
the  'Wofkert'  League.'  Y«i  fcawe  »  vacant}'  T 
fiever 

"I  have  only  owe  that  would  suit  vou,"  1 
Dorothy,  rising  an  ~tet»i)iiig  him  .nto  tiie  ail. 
it  is  right  here,"  oj  ning  a  '  or  a  few  fc  to  tfe=  eft, 
whidh  diackMed  a  ^laaH  I  neat ;  iM  ro«n. 
Its  sew  fivsbfai^^  aB<l  <&ft*i^HeB  a^^aeteiS'lfci  hwb. 
he  said : 

That  will  do  ver  '  nicely,  aT.  *  th  yoir  p  "  n 
I  shall  take  possessi*    of  it  at  on-. c." 


62 


The  Success  of  FaUure 


•J\\c  room  is  ready  for  occupancy,"  replied  Dorothy 
smiling.  "You  may  come  whenever  you  wish." 

"Thank  you,"  he  !»aid,  regarding  Dorothy  somewhat 
quizzically  from  a  pair  of  keen  gray  eyes.  **Yoa  pro- 
vide keys,  of  course." 

Certainly.  Wait  a  moment  and  I  will  get  them  for 
\ou,  ■  and  stepping  back  into  the  room  from  whidi  she 
iiad  come,  she  returned  almost  immediately,  holdinf 
two  keys  in  her  hand,  which,  after  stating  to  wWch 
locks  they  belonged,  she  handed  them  to  him. 

He  thanked  her  and  was  making  his  way  slowly  to- 
ward the  door  leading  into  the  public  hall,  when  she 
stopped  him  with  the  inquiry : 
"May  I  know  your  name?" 
•You  may,"  he  said  turning.  "My  name  is  Franklin 

Thompson."   

The  door  closed  after  him  and  Dwo&y  went  Dux 
to  her  curtain-mending,  reflecting  Aat  this  appltcaiit 
was  some  years  older  than  any  of  the  others.  They 
were  mere  youngsters  in  comparison,  but  this  one  was 
a  man  whose  years  must  be  as  many  as  her  own.  It 
had  not  been  her  intention  to  admit  into  her  "luuM- 
livmg  place**  anyone  m  old  as  herself,  and  now  she  is 
beginning  to  question  the  wisdom  of  admitting  Mr. 
Franklin  Thompson  as  an  inmate.  To  his  appearance 
she  had  not  given  much  heed,  and  could  only  remem- 
ber that  his  hair  was  slightly  gray  at  the  templet  and 


Dorothy,  the  New  AppUamt,  and  a  Call  63 


at  each  side  of  his  moutii  were  deep  Utws.  Agentlemn 

though  he  may  be,  she  regrets  that  his  age  will  pre- 
clude the  friendly  intimacy  that  exists  between  the 
"kiddies,"  as  she  calls  the  other  members  of  the  "home- 
living  place,"  and  herself.  Just  then  atvoice,  which 
she  recognim,  acoomptskd  by  foot^qM  in  the  haU, 
breaks  in  upon  her  thoughts,  and  she  heart: 

"Don  t  trouble,  Bertha,  I'll  find  her." 

The  voice  and  footsteps  belonged  to  Mrs.  Gordon,  so 
Dorothy  called  out : 

Tm  in  here,  Margaret !" 

'So  this  is  where  you  are,  and  as  busy  as  usual. 
What  are  you  doing?"  said  a  tall,  dark,  handsomo 
woman  becomingly  dressed  in  brown,  entering  and 
crossing  tlie  room  to  where  Dorotl^  sat 

"Not  so  very  busy  now,"  replied  D(m>thy,  removing 
from  a  chair  beside  her  the  mate  to  the  curtain  she  was 
mending.  "Here,  sit  down.  These  curtains  were 
dotted  with  tiny  holes  which  have  taken  some  time  to 
mend.  However,  I  have  Msriy  finMwd  mending  Acm 
and  tiiey  will  be  ready  for  the  wash  tomorrow." 

"Well,  Dorothy,"  asked  Mrs.  Gordon,  leaning  back 
in  her  chair,  "do  you  find  your  guests  as  keenly  anx- 
ious for  a  'h(Mne-iiving  place'  as  you  thot^ht?" 

"So  far,  it  appears  to  meet  with  tiieir  ^^Mvciatka," 
replied  Dorothy.  "But,"  surprtw^y,  "whi^  l»ing»  ypn 
out  so  early  this  morning?" 


64 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"What  r  I  you  ask  that?"  laughingly  asked  Mrs. 
Gordo*.  ,iot  so  very  early.  It  is  nearly  ten." 

"Oh.  '  't  know,"  replied  Dorothy.  "It  is  rather 
tmusual  for  vou  to  get  out  in  the  morning,  isn't  it?" 

"Well  it  is  rather  exceptional,  I  will  admit,"  replied 
Mrs.  Gordon  smaing,  "but  I  should  not  say  remarkrf>I« 
when  an  early  morning's  call  upon  one's  brother  is  the 

Ctuie  Now  don't  look  frightened,  there  is  notlun^ 

the  matter  with  Bob."  added  she  quickly,  noting  the 
look  of  alarm  that  spread  rapidly  over  Dorothy's  face, 
"unless,  perhaps,  it  is  stubbornnets. 

"Oh,  Margaret,"  deprecated  Dorothy. 

"Pig-headedness,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  laying 

emphasis  on  the  pig. 

"Why,  Margaret,  what  is  the  troidMe?  adwd 
Dorotiiy,  her  eyes  openmg  wide  m  anwwment.  "What 
has  he  dcme  or  what  won't  he  do?" 

"Ever  since  I  returned  from  my  trip,"  replied  Mrs. 
Gordon  gravely.  "I  have  been  anxiously  waiting  for 
the  opportune  time  and  place  to  pres«it  themselves 
when  I  could,  without  offending  him,  not  only  catt  to 
Bob's  attention  the  folly  of  engaging  to  perform  the 
duties  of  an  office-nurse  such  a  young  and  pretty 
woman  as  Mrs.  Archer,  but  also  to  impress  upm  him 
the  impropriety  of  retaining  her  m  hif  employ,  he  being 
a  man  ami  an  unmarried  physician.  However,  as  At 
days  and  weeks  went  by.  the  tooked-for  opportune 


Dorothy,  the  New  Applicant,  and  a  Call  65 


grew  more  and  more  remote,  so  becoming  wppnSxat' 
sivc  of  unkind  criticiMa  aad  goodness  oily  knows  mkalt 

else  I  " 

"You  decided  the  proper  time  should  be  this  morning 
and  the  proper  place  riiould  be  Bob's  office,"  inter- 
rupted Dorothy,  looking  smilingly  across  at  her  caller. 

"Yes,"  emphatically  replitd  Mrs.  Gordon.  "I  de- 
termined last  night  that  I  should  not  let  another  day 
go  by  without  speaking  to  Bob  about  it.  But  I  might 
just  as  wdl  hxn  spsred  mjrsdf  tin  trmible,  for  I  wm 
given  to  understand  it  was  none  of  my  Iranness." 

"Bob  fails  to  see  the  impropriety,  I  suppose,"  said 
Dorothy,  lowering  her  eye-lids  to  hide  the  merry 
twinkle  in  her  eyes. 

"Wen,  if  kt  does,  he  won't  admit  it/'  ioi^ied  Mrs. 
Gordon. 

"He  has  no  intention,  then,  of  following  your  advice 
and  dismissing  Mrs.  Archer?"  queried  Dorothy,  hold- 
ing the  curtain  up  in  her  outstretched  hands  to  look  for 
more  hoki  1^  at  iSb/t  same  time,  hkie  Irom  Mrs. 
Cordon's  view  her  laughing  face. 

"None  whatever,  I  regret  to  say,"  gloomily  replied 
Mrs.  Gordon.  "At  first  he  seemed  very  much  amused 
and  ridictded  the  idea  of  discharging  a  capable  nurse 
because  WM  ytswxff  and  pfdly.  And  w^en  I  hi^ad 
that  his  reputation  might  suffer,  he  only  tai  9')  ^  uA 
said:  'I  was  in^y  ooocMnad;  that  bt  wa^    .  ablt 


66  The  Success  of  Failure 

to  take  care  of  his  reputation  and  could  certify  to  the 
good  conduct  of  his  nurse.'     But  when  I  suggested 
that  the  friendliness  which  existed  between  him  and 
Mrs  Archer  might,  by  some,  be  misconstrued,  he  be- 
came indignant,  and  stated,  in  anything  but  pleasant 
tones,  'That  as  long  as  there  waa  ••  Uttte  cause  for 
niisconatrttction  he  refused  to  discuss  the  situation 
furthei,  excepting  to  say  that  he  was  surprised  that  I 
should  have  taken  the  trouble  to  come  to  him  with  such 
a  foolish  suggestion  or  to  expect  him  to  give  it,  for  a 
moment,  any  serious  consideration;  Att  the  affairs  of 
his  olBce  were  his  own  concern,  and  he  considered  it 
proper  and  fitting  that  they  should  be  so  regarded  by 
others.'  He  was  very  angry,  and  so  was  I.  I  told  him 
he  could  rest  assured  that  neither  he  nor  to  affairs 
would  soflfer  Huout^  any  im«if«w»ce  of  nrine  in  the 

- ^  —  —  99 

llllUlv*  * 

"Poor  Margaret,"  said  Dorothy  consolingly,  as  Mrs. 
Gordon  wiped  away  with  her  handkerchief  thctears 
which  had  slowly  been  gathering  in  her  eyes  di»fag  the 
recital,  "your  good  fanentkns  were,  no  doobt,  mis- 
understood, and  Bob  evidently  looked  upon  yowr  sug- 
gestion as  an  impertinent  interference." 

"He.  undoubtedly,  did,"  sharply  «P^^«^J*^J*JJ]' 
don.  "And  it  was  not  faitended  to  he  anything  of  the 
lort.  Mrs.  Archer  nuiy  be  an  excellent  nurse,  I  am  not 
questiooinK  her  abUity.  But,  to  prevent  unfavorable 


Dorothy,  the  New  Applicant,  and  a  Call  67 

cotninent,  I  do  think  it  would  be  wiser  for  him  to  have, 
as  an  olifice  nurse,  a  woman  of  toon  mature  yewrt. 
Don't  you  think  so,  Dorothy?" 

"I  don't  know,  Margaret,"  replied  Dorothy  musing- 
ly. "Sonoetinies,  I  tidnk;  wt  giW  too  anicfa  coottdefB- 
tion  to  the  opinions  of  others.  Perhaps  it  would  be  a« 
well  if  we  gave  less  and  depended  more  upon  the 
still,  small  voice  of  the  inner  man  or  woman  to  bear 
witness  to  cur  r^teottraen." 

"Or  uarig^iteotisMst,''  retnnied  Mrs.  Gonfea. 
"However,  you  haven't  answered  my  question." 

"I  think  T  have,  Margaret,"  replied  Dorothy  laugh- 
ing. "Anyway,  I  have  answered  it  as  well  as  I  should.** 

"In  other  words,''  said  Mrs.  Gonkm  with  a  dry, 
short  laugh,  "mind  your  own  business  and  observe 
closely  the  steps  thai  lead  vnto  md  from  tb^  own 
dwellin»." 

"That's  good  advice,  Margaret,"  said  Dorothy,  smil- 
ing gravely  as  she  snipped  widi  her  sdisors  the  thread 
from  the  last  of  the  many  tiny  darMd  spots  and  folded 

up  the  curtain,  "but  like  many  other  good  things  not 
agreeable  to  the  taste,  although  good  for  the  system,  it 
is  not  in  demand.  Now,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  ques- 
tioo.  Was  this  Interview  of  yours  with  Bob  over  be- 
fore Mrs.  Archer  arrived  at  the  office?" 

"Goodness  gracious,  yes!"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon  im- 
patiently.  "I  called  at  the  office  shortly  after  eight 


The  Success  of  FaUurt 

<^dock.  She  is  not  due  untU  some  time  later.  Bob 
had  recovered  his  usual  maimer  and  we  were  chatting 
pleasantly  when  she  stepped  m  a  few  minutes  before 
nine.  You  don't  suppose  the  propriety,  or  unpropnety, 
of  her  retainment  by  Bob  as  his  office-nurse  was  dis- 
cussed  in  her  presence,  do  you?" 

"Not  knowingly,  of  course,"  Dorothy  hastened  to 
reply  "I  was  afraid  she  might  have  been  in  that 
cubby-hole  of  a  place  at  the  left  of  the  reception-room 
and  unintentionally  have  overheard  the  conversation. 

"Oh,  no,"  assured  Mrt.  Gordon,  "A«  was  not  there^ 
nor  anyone  else.  The  door  was  wide  opoi  and  I  looked 

in  " 

""I  am  glad  to  hear  that,  for  I  should  not  like  her  to 
even  suspect,  let  alone  know,  the  purpose  of  your  visit 
to  the  office ;  nor  would  I  have  her  dream  that  she  w 
the  cause  of  the  Httk  unpleasantness  that  tprang  up  tint 
morning  between  you  and  Bob." 

"Considerate  Dorothy,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  smihng  a 
trifle  sarcastically.  "But  why  Ais  cottri<teraten«s? 
It  seems  to  me  Aat  yott  and  Bob.aiaEe,  are  more  tiian 
usually  interested  in  a  total  stranger." 

"That  she  is  a  stranger  should  be  an  excellent  reason 
for  one's  interest.  I  think."  soberly  replied  Dorothy 

"But  nothing  is  known  about  her,"  per«sted  Mrs. 
Gordon.  "Bob  adnuti  Aat  he  engaged  her  solely  upon 
tiie  recommenditlon  of  Doctor  Uwis.  and  he,  yon 


Dorothy,  the  New  Applicant,  and  a  Call  69 

know,  would  recommend  Satan,  himself,  if  he  hap- 
pended  to  be  out  of  work  and  he  thought  he  needed  it." 

"Poor  Mrs.  Archer,  I  don't  believe  she  is  any  nearer 
related  to  that  genttemui  tiian  we  are,  do  yoaT* 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  dubiotaly  retorted  Mn. 
Gordon.  "I  doa't  like  people  who  tre  SO  tctioait  about 
their  past." 

"Come  now,  Margaret,  be  fair,"  ui^^ed  Dorothy 
gently.  "A  Man  to  spe^  of  the  peet  and  of  its  asso- 
ciations, does  not  always  kofiy  that  it  holds  what  we, 
or  the  world,  would  deem  questionable.  I  cannot  be- 
lieve that  Mrs.  Archer's  reticence  is  due  to  anything 
unworthy." 

"Perb^M  not^"  tart^  lepHed  Ifet.  Gofdoo^  "never* 
theless,  I  should  feel  easier  in  my  mind  if  I  could 
learn  something  aboBt  her  whidi  wodd  justify  that 

statement." 

•The  past,  I  have  no  douh%"  said  Dorothy  musingly, 
her  eyes  fixed  tbougfatfuBy  opoa  Mrs.  Gordon's  Imi^ 
"does  not  always  omtain  the  most  agrecaUe  meworka; 
and  for  that  reason,  I  believe,  many  people  close  and 
lock  the  door  upon  it  and  throw  away  tlu:  key,  and  in 
the  way  of  today  they  try  to  forget  the  road  of  y«^- 
day,  a  road,  no  dooht,  strewn  whh  shattered  idcds  and 
bordered  with  fading  ideals  ud  pehifn!  recollections. 
The  brighter  spots  along  the  way  are  nearly,  if  not  alto- 
gether, obscured  by  the  darker  and  greater  ones.  So 


^  The  Success  of  Failure 

they  wisely  leave  those  things  beh««4.  tecaUteg  of 
wh  ch  would  only  serve  to  retard  their  progress,  and 
S^^dy  X«P  the  duties  of  the  present,  neither  hoping 
J^TiTealg  the  future,  only  desiring  to  work 


and  wait 


•■  A^d  vou  think  th»t  to  Mrs.  Archer"!  atr 
ing  her       »a  pennWing  than  to  travel  out  of  the 

"'"wi.  all  I  .n  say  or  do  «m  not  change  the^«e^ 
a««r.,  now.  so  we  wffl  drop  the  «bj«t  tor  the  p«.- 
•ot"  nid  Mm.  Gordon  resignedly. 
•^A^  ptlise  me  you  won't  worry  any  more  about 
it  Margaret,"  pleaded  Dorothy,  ^^'^S  o^-^J^^^y- 
L  her  small  white  hands  affectionately  upon  Mrt. 
'^'rcLnVla^^^^  "I  a««re  ym. 

i^I^o-;  it  may  prove  to  be  so,"  repU^ Mj. 
Gordon.  doubVfully  shaking  her  head  as  she  took  th« 

little  hands  in  her  own. 

"I  know  it  will."  assured  Dorothy  confidently. 

"iTw  hope  s^."  said  Mrs.  Gordon  rather  hopeless- 
ly  ^d^g^h  ;  quizzical  smile.  "Why  don't  you 
marrBol  Dorothy,  and  thus  relieve  me  of  all  respcH 
sibility  in  that  direction?"  ^    .  . 

Dorothy  laughed  and  wiAdrew  her  hands 

«Who  knows,  perhap.  I  may.  some  day.  she  said. 


Dorothy,  the  New  Aff^mtt,  amd  a  CaU  7» 


rising  and  smiling  teasingly.  "Juft  now,  how«w,  I 
am  going  out  in  Ae  kitchen  to  make  you  a  cup  of  tea. 
You  kxjk  completely  tired  out.  If  you  go  home  look- 
ing the  way  you  do,  Douglas  will  fail  to  recognize 
you.  Why  didn't  you  take  your  hat  off  when  you  came 
in?   You  don't  expect  to  be  adced  every  time  yoa 

come  here,  do  you?** 
Mrs.  Ckjnka  Miiaed  and  raiaed  her  hand!  to  take  out 

the  hat-pins. 

'  Thank  you,  Dorothy,"  she  said,  "I  shall  be  glad  to 
have  a  cup  of  tea,  for  my  head  feeli  a  trifle  fueer. 
And  I  think,  while  you  are  outside,  I  shall  take  off  my 
hat  and  smooth  my  hair.  When  I  came  in  I  didn't 
intend  to  stay  more  than  a  few  minutes,  and  I  hays 
been  here  over  an  hour." 

"You  surely  can  afford  it,  once  in  a  wMe,"  laughed 
Dorothy.  "It  is  not  often  yon  honor  me  with  yoor 
presence  in  the  morning. 

On  her  way  to  the  kitchen,  Dorothy  met  her  new 
guest.  Franklin  Thompson,  coming  in  carrying  his 
grip.  In  response  to  her  nod  and  bright  smile  of  reeog- 
nitum,  he  removed  his  hat  and  bowed  slightly.  Leav- 
ing instructions  with  Bertha  to  put  on  the  kettle,  she 
hastened  after  him  to  see  if  he  was  rightly  located. 
When  she  reached  him,  his  hand  was  on  the  handle  of 
the  door  of  Ae  room  to^  right  instead  of  being  t^oa 
that  of  the  door  of  tlie  room  to  Ae  left,  wh^  was  tfw 


7a 


The  Sueew  of  Paihm 


one  selected  by  him.  She  laus^ied  Ugbtly,  and  at  the 
sound  he  turned  around. 

"Yon  are  going  tiie  wrong  room,"  she  said, 
opening  ^tut  door  to  the  left.  "This  is  the  one." 

"Pardon  me/'  he  said,  slightly  embtrraMed,  "I  was 
not  aware  I  was  trespassing." 

"Nothing  serious,  I  can  assure  you,"  Dorothy  smil- 
ii^y  hastened  to  refrfy.  "I  trust  you  wtH  find  every- 
thing to  your  liking  and  will  soon  feel  at  home." 

"Thank  you,"  he  replied,  glancing  approvingly 
around  the  room.  "I  am  sure  I  shall  shortly  feel  very 
much  at  home." 


CHAPTER  V 


FRANK  INSTALLED  IN  THE  "HOME-LIVING  PLACE" 

AS  Dorodiy  dosed  tiie  docHr  and  went  out,  Frai^, 
with  a  long,  deep  sigh  of  relief,  tossed  his  hat 
upon  the  bed  and  sank  wearily  into  a  chair.  The  greater 
psrt  of  yesterday  and  two  hours  of  today  had  been 
spent  in  seeking  to  loci^  a  plact  be  cafi  home. 
The  places  he  had  hithM  aeen  eHhor  dark  and 
uncleanly  or  the  price  asked  was  too  high ;  and  it  was, 
therefore,  with  reluctance  and  doubt,  when  he  came  to 
the  last  name  on  the  list  secured  from  the  Woricers' 
League,  that  he  climbed  ^  k>ng  flight  of  ttatn  kad- 
ing  to  Dtm^/i  liome-livh^  friace."  His  doubts  and 
fears  were  soon  quieted,  however,  when  he  beheld  the 
bright,  newly-furnished  room  facing  the  street.  On 
the  floor,  in  the  center  of  the  room,  was  a  pretty  green 
rug ;  pushed  dose  against  tbte  wi^  wi^  white  spref  d 
and  linen  covered  ihIIow,  was  a  lii^  brass  bed ;  in  the 
corner,  with  its  white  linen-covered  top  and  hand  em- 
broidered-covered pin-cushion,  stood  a  dark  chiffonier ; 
at  the  window,  to  match  the  chiffonier,  was  a  medium- 
sized  todda^^-iiaiT;  screwad  bBto  iSatt  waQ,  bot^ng 

n 


74  The  Success  of  Failure 

clean  linen  towels,  were  two  racks ;  irom  a  brass  rod. 
placed  across  the  window,  hung  white.  <^<^"ed  swtot 
Lh  curtains,  and  built  into  the  ^  was  •  ^'J^ 
for  clothes.  A  lew  «n«pe«irive  pictures  ado^^^^ 
waB..  tmoiig  the  nmnber  being  a  blue  and  white  motto, 
which  read :  "Bom  to  Serve." 

Two  months  had  passed  since  Frank  "^od  in 
the  middle  of  the  Woods'  Road  m  front  of  tfie  iteA 
and  watched  the  figure  of  hi.  tmbiddeii  o^  *a 
mOToraWe  night  and  «»ppear  among  the  trees 
^I^S^fX  of  the  woods.  Hejiid  ^unylor^ 
after  she  had  gone,  but  closed  up  the  shack  ai^  took 
the  midday  train  back  to  the  city  determttiing  to  fe^ 
get.  if  he  could.  hU  terr&le  «cpen«ce  of  the  previo^ 
night,  the  visit  of  At  woman  and  Ae  conversation  he 

had  had  with  her.  j  j      ku  «M 

Upon  arriving  in  the  city,  he  proceedwi  to  hi»  rtd 
quarters,  fully  intending  to  quarrd.  no  longer,  with 
Liditiona.  Howem,  a.  he  took  up  the  routme  of 
everyday  living  he  found,  as  the  days  passed,  he  could 
not  suppress  the  spirit  of  unrest  that  was  ^rdy  gr^ 
ing  upon  him.  And  it  was  this  spirit  of  unrest  wMd* 
prompted  the  seeking  of       •nrronnduigs.  As  toe 
went  on.  he  dimly  realixed  Aat  his  attitude  towwd 
everybody  and  everything  was  undergomg  a  decided 
ch«^what  he  had  hitherto  regarded  negaU^yhe 
was  now  beginning  to  regard  positively.  ConditiOBi 


wherein  he  had  been  mentally  pasaive  he  wa»  tow  be- 
coming mentaUy  active.   In  some  fadtfCfflwbie 


he  wit  tmm»fM—m — 

A»  Car  teck  as  he  could  remember,  Frank  and  his 
mother  had  lived  alone  in  the  little  shack  in  the  woods. 
She  had  bought  it  when  he  was  a  tiny  baby,  she  had 
told  him,  and  there  the  happiest  days  of  hit  fift  bad 
beenspeitt  Aa  «  child  lit «  not  permitted  to  attend 
tlie  village  iciioot,  hia  early  education  being  uudcrt-\ken 
by  his  mother.  When  he  became  old  enough  to  be 
trusted  to  travel  unaccompanied  on  the  train,  to 
motlier  selected  a  school  in  a  aeaihy  city.  For  lix 
years  he  went  to  th»  tchool,  tridnf  Ae  ewly  mornmg 

train  and  retunung  late  in  the  aftemooo.  He  was  not 
considered  a  particularly  promising  student  by  his 
teachers,  possessing  but  the  intellect  of  an  o"*"*^' 
everyday  boy.  HU  fiSwe  to  gftdttite  wet » l»en  dis- 
appointment to  lus  mother,  for  only  through  her  un- 
complaininf  istfHknW  hmi  his  edncation  been  made 

possible.  .   ».  J 

From  the  time  he  left  school  until  the  present,  he  had 
been  exceedingly  unfortunate  to  his  bumty  to  hold  a 
positioa  after  »  had  once  been  secured.  Varied  and 
many  were  the  private  concerns  and  corporations  by 
which  he  had  been  employed,  and  yet  he  could  o^ 
boast  of  one  where  he  had  remained  a  ytar.  In  ffle 
others,  he  had  stayed  anywhere  from  one  day  to  six 


ye  Tfn  Success  of  Faiburg 

months,  and.  singularly,  he  was  not  discharged  from 
anyone  of  them  because  he  ladted  applicatkm  or  Ije- 
cause  he  had  not  pcffbrmed  W»  d«ti«t  latiifactonly. 
These  constant  changes  were  not  due  to  any  fault  of 
his  for  he  was  not  only  a  willing  and  faithful  worker, 
but  he  was  truthful  and  honest   They  were,  due.^in 
many  instances,  to  dimness  in  twsineit.  whea  an  order 
would  come  from  ^  private  cOct  to  cut  down  ex- 
penses, which  frequently  meant  a  reduction  in  the  office 
force;  and,  as  Frank  was  usually  the  last  one  em- 
ployed, he  was  generally  the  first  to  go.  Owing  to  tlib 
state  of  affairs,  be  coidd  not  afford  to  remain  idle  and 
wait  for  the  "good  and  permanent  thing"  to  present 
i»jelf,  but  was  f'^  ced  to  work  whenever  the  oppor- 
tunity offered.  Sometimes  he  would  substitute,  or  fill 
in  when  some  other  man,  through  sickneit— or  tome- 
thing  quite  as  undesirable— was  coiiq>dled  to  be  abeeat. 
This  might  be  for  a  day,  perhaps  a  week,  or  even 
l(inger ;  it  all  depended  upon  the  inability  of  the  other 
unfortunate  fellow  to  be  present.  Not  infrequentiy  the 
concerns  went  out  of  business  or  merged  ialo  otlw 
corporations. 

Of  the  identity  of  his  father  and  the  source  of  his 
mother's  income,  Frank  had  been  kept  in  ignorance. 
To  all  questions  relating  thereto  his  mother  had  always 

maintained  a  dignified  sUence.  and 
referred  to  the  days  iM*»fcHii  to  Aoea  of  w 


Frank  Installed  in  the  "Home-living  PUu^*  T7 

She  discouraged  the  idea  of  visitors  and,  excepting  the 
woman  who  came  every  week  to  wash  and  to  do  the 
week's  cleaning,  a  stranger  was  never  seen  around  tiie 
shack. 

After  her  dettfi,  Tnmk,  in  his  loneliness,  searched 
every  nook  and  comer  of  the  shack,  looked  through 
every  book  in  the  bookcase,  threw  everything  out  of  the 
drawers  of  her  desk  and  of  her  bureau  and  examUied 
every  article  of  fumttnre  in  the  hope  that  he  mtg^t 
find,  conceakd  somewhere,  something— an  old  letter, 
a  photograph— anything,  which  would  reveal  his  re- 
lationship to,  and  bring  him  intimately  in  touch  with, 
some  other  human-being  living  in  the  ww^d.  He  foimd 
nothing.   If  ^ere  had  been  vsf3t&ag,  at  uiy  ttme. 
which  could  have  been  the  means  of  telling  a  storv, 
good  or  ill,  it  had  been  carefully  destroyed.  With  the 
exception  of  a  sealed  envelope  addressed  to  the  firm  of 
lawyers  whose  signature  had  always  appeared  upon 
the  face  of  his  mother's  monthly  checks  and  a  long, 
plain,  white  cafdope  placed  in  the  top  drawer  of  her 
desk,  there  was  not  a  scrap  of  paper  to  be  found  any- 
where. The  long,  white  envelope  contained  two  sheets 
of  paper.  Upon  one  was  written,  fa  Ws  mother's  strong 
hand-writfag,  the  tWiMSt  M  he  forward  the  letter 
addressed  to  the  attorneys ;  the  other  informed  him  that 
he  was  the  owner  of  the  shack  and  of  a  few  hundred 
dollars.  The  money  was  deposited  in  his  name  in  a 


78 


The  Success  of  FaUwn 


savings  bank  and  had  been  saved  out  of  her  monthly 
income,  which  he  knew,  for  she  had  told  Wm,  wooW 
cease  with  her  death.  ^  , 

A»  he  looked  around  the  room,  after  Dorothy  left, 
he  fdt  more  satisfied  with  life  than  he  had  since  his 
mother  died.  He  proceeded  to  open  his  grip  and  take 
out  the  contents,  which  he  laid  away  in  the  deM,  newly- 
papered  drawer*.  While  he  waa  that  occupied,  there 
was  little  to  indicate  in  Frank's  clean  shaven  face  any 
cause  for  Dorothy  to  question  the  advisabiUty  of  admit- 
ting him  into  her  "home-living  place."  Atehougfa 
habituallv  wearing  an  expresrfon  of  anxkmt  wieer- 
tainty  the  face  ii  one  of  undoubted  refinement.  Below 
the  dirk-brown  hair  covering  his  head,  and  which 
slightly  gray  at  the  temples,  is  a  forehead  seamed  wi^ 
d-ep  lines,  which  should  not  be  there.  They  are  not  the 
lines  produced  by  work,  but  l»y  the  coMtast  pursuit  of 
it   The  honert  gray  eyes,  above  which  are  black  eye- 
brows, carry  a  questioa,  and  ask  Uie  eternal  quesUon. 
Why?"  The  nose  is  long  and  inclined  to  turn  under 
at  the  end,  and  the  mouth  beneath,  though  large,  it 
clean  and  as  sentlthre  as  a  woman's.  The  chin  pro- 
trudes a  IMc  and  rounds  off  somewhat  at  the  sides. 

After  placing  the  now  empty  grip  in  the  wardrobe, 
he  concluded  he  would  not  -ait  any  longer  for  ^ 
trunk  to  arrive,  but  would  ask,  is  he  ^"*^^«fvT[ 
pleasant  little  lady,  whom  he  had  wet  thrt  awming.  to 


Frank  Installed  in  the  "Home-living  Placed'  79 

see  that  it  was  properly  located  when  it  came.  Open- 
ing the  door,  he  stepped  into  the  hall  and  stood  there 
for  a  moment  or  so  trying  to  detennine  in  which  room 
he  had  scan  her.  Dorodqr  beard  hinmBi  Mriag  iha 
cause  of  hit  hesitation  cane  (pM^jy  from  her  roMi  hi 
the  front,  and  inquired : 

"Do  you  wish  to  speak  to  me,  Mr.  Thompson?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  and  then  stopped  abruptly  for,  at 
she  appraached,  k  occurred  to  hha  that  drfa  dllBiiii, 
little  lady  might  consider  his  request  impertinent. 

Wondering  at  his  hesitation  and  fearing  it  might  be 
due  to  something  not  altogether  satisfactory  in  his 
room,  Dorothy  stepped  into  the  doorway  and  kx)ked 
around.  As  she  did  so.  the  Ught  from  the  window 
fell  iuU  upon  her  face  and  revealed,  to  Frank's  amaze- 
ment, its  pale,  tranquil  beauty.  He  thought,  as  she 
waited  for  him  to  continue,  he  had  never  seen  so  beau- 
tiful a  face. 

Satisfying  hertelf  tfam  emytUng  was  as  it  diould 

be.  Dorothy  looked  inquiringly  up  into  his  face. 

"I  was  going  to  ask  you,"  he  said,  "if  I  might  trouble 
you  to  see  that  my  trunk  is  placed  in  my  room  when 
it  comes." 

"It  won*t  hi      trooble.  at  aU,"  Ae  replied  idlh  ft 

bright  smile.  "I  shall  be  glad  to  do  it  for  you." 

"Thank  you."  he  said,  taking  his  hat  from  the  bed; 
"you  are  very  kind." 


8o 


Thi  Success  of  Fmlurt 


"VIkA  at  all,"  and  turning  she  went  back  to  her  room. 
Mrs.  Gordon  wm  ttandiiig  in  front  of  tli«  mirror  pot- 
ting on  her  hat,  and,  as  the  front  door  opened  weA 

closed,  she  exclaimed  indignantly : 

"I  like  that  man's  nerve!  What  right  had  he  to  ask 
you  to  look  after  his  trunk,  I'd  like  to  know?  Why 
didn't  he  stay  and  see  about  it  himielf?" 

"Why,  Margaret,"  said  Dorothy  in  surprise,  "it  isn't 
any  trouble,  and  I  like  to  do  these  little  things  for 
people." 

"You  do?"  qtttried  Mrs.  Gordon  angrily.  "Like  to 
n»ke  yourself  a  servant  for  a  lot  of  tramps?  I'd  like 
to  see  myself." 

"So  should  I,"  thought  Dorothy. 

"Dorothy,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon  severely,  turning  from 
the  mirror  and  pulling  on  her  gloves,  "there  are  timet 
when  I  feel  like  shaking  you,  and  this  is  one  of  them." 

"Why  don't  you,  then?"  asked  Dorothy,  smi&if 
provokinply.   "I'll  give  you  permission." 

"It  isn't  because  you  don't  deserve  it,"  sternly  replied 
Mrs.  Gordon,  standing  at  the  table  and  locking  down 
into  Dorothy's  laughing  brown  eyes  with  a  shade  irf 
anxiety  in  her  own,  "I  can  tell  you  that.  To  have  ad- 
mitted a  man  who  is  as  old  as  yourself  as  an  inmate 
into  your  'home-living  place,'  is  bad  enough,  goodness 
knows,  trat  to  fraciotttly  amde  to  his  reqnttt  ikemym 
]0€k  after  hia  bftggH«>  inttead  of  teUiiif  himXamtikm 


Frank  Installed  in  the  "Home-living  Place"  8l 


maid— well— I  don't  know-hot  ft  mobs  to  loe  yon 
must  be  lacking  in  ordinary  common  sense." 

-Ordinary  common  aense/'  repeated  Dorothy  teas- 
Mil^.  "Ifcit  M  ao  ted,  Market  I  thought  you 
were  going  to  say  nmnhUig  m  to  mudi  wont. 
Don  t  you  know  that  common  leme  is  always  tmocm- 
nion  and  is  not  supposed  to  be  possessed  by  ordinary 
common  people.  I  don't  feel,  after  all,  I  am  so  differ- 
ent fnmikt  reM  of  the  world." 

At  Dorothy's  last  word^  Mib.  Gordoo't  &ee  relaxed 
and  her  hps  parted  and  extended  into  an  amused  smile. 

"You  are,  nevertheless,  Dorothy,  very  different,"  she 
said,  touching  caressingly  with  her  gloved  fingers  the 
crown  of  Ugfat-brown  hair  wUch  framed  the  teasing 
laughing  face  ttp-raised  to  hert;  '*mA  for  ttal  rtaaaa 
you  should  possess  that  exUaot^Mairy  mtg«^<mn«i 
thing,  common  sense." 

"Beriiaps  I  do,"  laughingly  replied  Dorothy.  "The 

troidileiiyoa&ato  neogniieit  Yonr  Tblon  must  be 
at  fault." 

"That  is  possible,  of  coane»"  admittid  Mn.  Gordon, 
smiling  enigmatically. 

"But  not  probable,"  returned  Dorothy. 

"I  refuse  to  aajr."  repHed  Mn.  Gordon  aa  die  pro- 
ceeded  on  her  way  out.  "However,  I  would  togseat, 
hereafter,  that  all  reference  to  baggage  and  other  such 
thmgs  should  be  referred  to  Bertha,  if  your 


9a 


Tht  Success  of  FaUure 


Kving'  people  do  not  wiih  to  remain  and  take  caw  ci 

it  themsehres." 

Dorothy  was  about  to  make  some  laughmg  reply 
when  the  telephone  bell  rang.  With  a  murmured 
apology,  she  hastily  brushed  past  Mrt.  Gordon  and 
ran  out  into  t»».  hall  and  took  down  Ae  recetw. 

"Hallo,"  she  said.  ^  

"Is  this  you,  Dorothy?"  asked  the  voice  of  Dodor 
Ross  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire. 

"Yes,  it  is  I,  Bob,"  she  replied.  "How  are  yon  Ab 
morning?" 

"Don't  tell  him  I  am  here,"  whispered  Mra.  Gordon 

frcrni  the  doorway, 

Dorothy  turned  her  head  and  with  a  nod  smilingly 
asseiUed  as  she  listened  to  his  voice  telling  htr  he  Mt 
very  well  and  would  be  urmmd  in  his  automobile  short- 
ly after  office  hours  to  take  hei  for  a  ride  that  evening. 

"That's  awful  good  of  you,  Bob.  I  will  be  ready  and 
won't  keep  you  waiting  a  minute." 

"All  right,  then,"  he  laid,  "I  win  be  aronnd  about 
half-past  eight.  Goodby." 

"Gooc&y  "  she  answered  back  and  hung  up  the  re- 
ceiver. 

"What  did  he  want,  Dorothy?"  asked  Mrs.  Gordon, 
leaving  the  doorway  and  leaning  up  againrt  the  wall 

"Oh,  he  Just  called  me  up  to  tell  me  he  was  eomfaig 
around  this  evening  to  take  me  lor  a  ride." 


Frmk  Itutatted  in  the  "Home-living  Placed'  83 

"I  wish,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon  thoughtfully,  "Bob 
would  not  call  here  for  you  in  his  automobile." 

"Why,  Margaret?"  innocently  inquired  Dorothy. 

"For  by  so  doing,  he  places  your  repotatioa  k  Uie 
mouths  of  the  evil-minded  public." 

"And  so  you  think  the  evil-minded  public  is  worthy 
of  consideration,  do  you?'*  smilingly  asked  Dorothy. 
"I  must  ny  I  do  not  How  I  live  it  of  more  import- 
ance to  me  tiian  wbat  it  ti^dct,  iAkA  ft  layi  «r  lAaX  k 
does." 

"That  may  be  all  very  well,"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon, 
slowly  making  her  way,  followed  by  Dorothy,  along 
the  hall  toward  the  ^lor,  "but  it  has  beoi  my  expe> 
rience  if  one  does  not  consider  public  opinion,  it  is 
not  long  before  public  opinion  is  considering  you  and 
inquisitively  concerning  herself  with  the  way  in  which 
you  conduct  your  life.  If  you  refuse  to  satisfy  her 
curiosity—determined  to  accqit  no  rtandard  of  living 
but  your  own— braaen  effrontery  she  looks  with 
prying  eyes  into  your  most  sacred  affairs  and  then 
hastens  to  reveal,  with  a  lying  tongue,  what  she  thinks 
she  has  found  there.  No  matter  how  pure,  simple  or 
true  the  life,  if  die  cannot  know  all  aboot  it,  or  if  the 
outward  living  of  that  life  differs  in  many  respects 
from  what  is  usually  considered  proper  and  right,  she 
believes,  and  does  not  hesitate  to  relate,  there  must  be 
some  unw<»1hy  motive  for  keeping  her  in  die  dark,  and 


84 


Tht  Success  of  Failure 


it  is  not  long  before  the  object  of  her  scrutiny  is  pay- 
ing the  penalty/' 

"I  care  nothing  lor  ptablic  opinion,"  replied  Dorothy, 
with  an  emphatic  stamp  of  her  tiny  foot.  "Public 
opinion  is  for  cowarda;  I  have  never  tubicribed  to  her 
and  I  never  will." 

"Very  well,  Dorothy,"  said  Mn.  Gordon,  placing  her 
arm  affectionately  around  the  determined,  little  figure. 
"I  certainly  hope  it  may  be  your  good  fortune  to  have 
her  pass  you  by  and  that  a  whiff  of  her  foul  breath  may 
never  come  near  you." 

"She  may  cane  or  stay  away,  I  care  nothti^  fwr 
her,"  tncBfferently  replied  Dorothy. 

"Well,  for  the  sake  of  those  who  love  you,  you  dear, 
little  soul,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  stooping  and  tenderly 
kissing  the  firm-set  lips,  "I  hope  she  stoys  away." 

At  Mrs.  Gordon  finiihed  tpeaking,  Dorothy's  face 
lost  the  kxjk  of  bdifference  and  hilo  it  ^re  came  one 
of  concern,  and  she  said : 

"Now,  don't  go  and  worry  about  me;  I'm  all  right." 

"Indeed  you  are,  Dorothy,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  as 
she  went  downstairs.  "It's  the  world  tiut  is  all  wrong. 
Goodly.  Come  over  to  dinner  tomorrow  night." 

"I  will.   Goodby."  called  Dorothy  after  her. 

With  a  smile  and  a  farewell  wave  of  her  hand,  Mrs. 
Gordon  proceeded  down  the  stairs,  and  Dorcrthy  weirt 
back  into  her  "home-Uvit^  place." 


CHAPTER  VI 


OOCTOt  aOM  AMD  DMOTBY  GO  VM  nsut  RIDS 

"IfA-VD  me  my  hat  first,  Bertha,"  said  Dorothy,  hold- 
Jn  ing  out  her  hand,  "and  then  answer  the  tele- 
pi  ijne.  If  it  is  the  doctor,  tell  him  not  to  trouble  to 
come  up,  for  I  shall  be  right  down." 

"Yes,  ma'am,  k's  the  doctor,"  said  Bertha,  retunrfag 
a  few  moments  later. 

•'\'ery  well,  help  me  on  with  my  coat,"  and  Dorothy 
slipped  her  arms  into  its  sleeves.  Buttoning  it  up,  she 
told  Bertha  she  might  have  the  evening  off.  Then 
picking  up  her  gloves,  which  were  lying  oa  the  top  of 
the  bureau,  she  pulled  them  on  as  she  hurried  out. 
Doctor  Ross  was  waiting  for  her  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs. 

"I  trust  I  <fidn't  keep  you  waiting  long.  Bob,"  was 
her  greeth^. 

"You  never  do,  Dorothy,"  replied  Doctor  Ross  smil- 
ing. "In  that  respect  you  are  an  exceptional  woman." 

"Nonsense,"  laughed  she  as  they  left  the  building. 

They  were  won  comfortably  seated,  and  John,  who 
had  received  his  hwtnictteaa,  Hantd  the  car.  At  it 

9s 


86 


The  Success  of  Failure 


turned  the  corner  and  ipcd  up  the  broad  avenue, 

Dorothy  asked : 
"Where  are  we  going  ton^^  Bob?" 
"Not  any  partkular  place,  tmleia  you  have  aome  ipa- 

dal  one  you  care  to  suggest." 

"No,"  replied  Dorothy,  settling  herself  back  a  trifle 
wearily  in  her  seat,  "I  can't  think  of  any  special  place; 
all  places  are  alike  to  me." 

"Wm  today  an  nnutiddly  tord  day,  DoroAy?"  ^ 
doctm  asked  solicitously. 

"Not  particularly  so.  What  made  you  ask  that?" 

"You  appear  tired." 

"Well,"  she  confeased,  "I  do  fed  a  little  tired.  How- 
ever, the  ride  ki  Ae  cod  air  and  your  sympathetic  pfti- 
ence  beside  me  will  soon  dissipate  that." 

"I  hope  so.  How  is  everything  progressing  at  the 
'home-living  place?' " 

"So  far,  very  satislactorily.  I  have  heard  no  com- 

platf^." 

"They  will  come  in  time,  never  l«uf,"  he  mentally 
commented.  Aloud,  he  asked : 
"Any  new  applicants?" 
"One.  He  came  this  morning." 
"From  the  League?" 
"Yes." 

"What  kind  of  a  youngster  is  the  new  one  ?" 

"I  am  afraid.  Bob,"  replied  she  hesitatingly,  "you 


Dottor  Rm  md  Dorothy  Go  for  Tktir  Ridt  87 


Would  hardly  call  him  a  youngster.  He  is  older,  very 
much  older,  tbaa  the  odwr  Idddiet." 
"How  tmidh  oMerr 

A  goodiiinQr]reart,l8hoiildsiqr.  He  ia  folly  at  old 

as  I  am." 

"What  sort  of  a  looking  chap  is  he?" 

A  ftatdcd  kxrfc  {Mttt  Ofver  tile  ftice  of  Dorodiy.  Thca 

she  laughed  and  said : 

"I  really  couldn't  say,  Bob,  I  paid  so  little  attention 
to  his  appearance.  His  manners,  I  remember,  were 
good,  and  gave  me  the  impression  it  would  be  safe  to 
admit  him  into  my  'home-Itvtng  place.' " 

"Wen,  never  mind  about  his  looks;  they  are  not 
neceisary.  His  age  is  sufficient  to  attract  Margaret's 
wellnneaning  but,  nevertheless,  impertinent  interfer- 
ence in  your  directicm."  And  Doctor  Ross  leaned  back 
in  hit  wu^t  and  laughed  toMy.  "I  wondo',''  continiied 
he,  "how  much  sleep  she  will  get  when  she  learns  you 
have  admitted  a  real  live  mas  tato  your  'home-livi^ 
place.' " 

"I  d<Mi*t  know,  I  am  sure,"  replied  Dorothy  laugh- 
ing. "I  am  gokag  to  dim  witii  Imr  and  Doug^  to- 
morrow night." 

"You  are!"  exclaimed  the  doctor  incredulously. 
"You're  surely  not  going  to  walk  into  that  hive  of  ques- 
ticms  voluntarily?" 

"I  am,  thotti^'' 


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88 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"Then  I  shall  have  to  arrange  to  take  dinner  over 
there,  too,  for  my  presence  may  possibly  guarantee 
your  escape  with  few  injuries.  Otherwise,  it  is  doubt- 
ful if  you  would  not  literaOy  be  battered  up  and  the 
reputation  of  the  'home-ltvii^  j^ace'  be  severely  dam- 
aged." 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself.  Bob,"  said 
Dorothy  with  feigned  severity. 

"Well,  I  am  not.  This  sdltcstottsness,  which  is  un- 
called for  and  unsought,  is  becoming  intolerable.  She, 
apparently,  is  incapable  of  comprehending  for  herself 
or  others  any  other  existence  but  that  subscribed  to  by 
the  conventional  world.  Its  mandatory  laws,  in  her 
(pinion,  must  be  obeyed;  its  rulnigs  must  be  followed 
and  its  voice,  right  or  w'r(mg,  must  always  be  heard." 

"Personally,  I  feel  very  sorry  for  Margaret,"  said 
Dorothy,  "for  she  certainly  spends  a  great  deal  of  her 
time  worrying  needlessly  about  other  people  and  their 
affairs.  And  I  can't  help  believing,  in  a  way,  it  is  un- 
selfish solicitude,  too." 

"It  may  be.  It  is  I  know  unnecessary,"  replied 
Doctor  Ross,  gazing  thoughtfully  ahead.  "One  thing 
is  evident,  however,  and  that  is  her  utter  inability  to 
a{^M«ciate  the  right  of  every<me  to  adtect  liie  body  of 
water  upon  which  his,  or  her,  vessel  shall  sail.  Some 
people  are  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  placid  waters  of 
the  Lakes  of  C(Hivention  and  upon  them  make  their 


Doctor  Ross  and  Dorothy  Go  for  Their  Ride  89 


homes.  Contentedly  sailing  around  their  peaceful  bor- 
ders, they  never  care  to  venture  their  craft  beyond  the 
narrow  and  limited  confines  of  the  lakes.  Margaret  is 
one  of  these.  Others,  more  curious,  becone  dissatis- 
fied with  the  quiet  waters  of  the  Lakes  of  Gmventimi 
and  leave  them  for  the  more  troubled  waters  of  the 
constant  rushing  Rivers  of  Interrogation.  Here, 
launchel  forth,  they  set  their  sails.   But  alas!  as  they 
sail,  the  gaze  of  tiietr  UMjuiring  eyes  becomes  covetous, 
and  tiiey  grtK^,  <me  to  tiie  other,  the  space  required 
to  safely  navigate  their  barks.   Dorothy,  you  are  one 
of  these.   And  the  others,  many  of  them,  long  since 
grown  weary  of  the  former  and  unsatisfied  with  the 
latter,  turn  to  tiie  watm  of  the  Great  Sea  of  Life. 
Scorning  its  gigantic  waves  and  the  fierceness  of  its 
sweeping  gales  and  caring  naught  for  its  tossings  and 
crossings,  they  thrust  forth  upon  that  mighty  deep  to 
learn  what  it  alone  can  teach  them.  As  they  embark 
their  questioning  voices  am  be  plainly  heard,  but  later, 
as  their  vessds  cmtinue  to  ride  the  waves,  they  are 
hushed  and  soon  are  lost  in  the  loud  roar  of  the  wind 
which  sweeps  over  the  Ocean  of  Experience.  Dorothy, 
I  am  one  of  these." 

Dorothy  sighed  deeply.  Bob,  to  her,  at  timet,  wtt 
sudi  an  inexplicable  hKmg. 

The  sigh  dM  not  esc^M  the  doctor,  rad  he  asked 
tenderly : 


90 


The  Success  of  Figure 


"What  makes  you  sigh,  Dorothy?" 
"Because,  Bob,  you  are,  at  tiines,  so  hard  to  under- 
stand." 

Doctor  Ross  laughed  as  he  asked:  "Do  you  really 

think  so?" 

"I  certainly  do,"  she  replied  decidedly.  "I  have  great 
trouble  sometimes  in  determining  just  what  you  mean." 

"I  am  glad  it  is  <Mjly  sometimes,"  said  the  ^Ktor, 
possessing  himself  of  one  of  her  small  hands. 

"So  am  I,  Bob,"  replied  she,  permitting  iier  hand  to 
remain  quietly  in  his. 

"Never  mind,"  said  he  assuringly,  "a  time  will 
come  when  you  will  never  fail  to  understand  me." 

"I  hardly  think  so,"  and  Dorothy  rfiook  her  head 
doubtfully. 

"Why?" 

"I  don't  know,  unless  it  is  because  your  life  is  so 
different  from  mine.  You  seem  to  live  such  a  purpose- 
ful life." 

"And  you  do  not,  is  that  it?"  laughingly  inquired  the 
doctor. 

"I  don't  mean  that,  exactly,"  irritably  replied  Dor- 
othy, trying  to  withdraw  her  hand  and  failing  in  the 
attempt. 

"That's  not  surprising,  is  it?"  asked  the  doctw  teas- 
in^y.  "I  am  a  physician  and  you  are  a  little  landlady." 


•  Doctor  Ross  attd  Dorothy  Go  for  Their  Rid*  91 

"I  can't  see  that  that  in  any  way  affects  ^tuatkn 
—ihey  t)oth  iavdtrt  tenrice." 

"That  is  true,"  admitted  the  doctor.  "Tlie  service, 
nevertheless,  you  must  own,  is  very  different." 

"That's  just  it.  Yours  is  a  service  based  upcm 
knowledge,  while  mine  is  one  caused,  more  or  less,  by 
accident" 

"And,  consequently,"  said  the  doctor,  "you  conclude 
the  outcome  of  your  service  is  not  always  satisfying." 

"Well,  I  cannot  say  it  is  altogether  so,"  she  reluc- 
tantly admitted. 

"Have  you  soi:^  to  find  the  reason?"  symi«thetk- 

allv  asked  he. 

"Oh,  yes,"  hopelessly,  "but  one  might  ,ast  as  well  try 
to  find  a  ray  of  light  in  the  dark  as  to  seek  this  hidden 
thing  which,  evidently,  is  iKst  to  be  found." 

"What  makn  yon  think  it  is  not  to  be  fottnd?" 

"Because  of  humanity's  wants." 

"You're  swimming  in  deep  water,  Dorothy,"  said 
the  doctor  wamingly. 

"I  know  I  am.  Bob,  and  I'd  dearly  love  to  see  the 
shore  and  find  a  knding-place." 

"There  is  one  waiting  for  you  now,  Dorothy,"  said 
the  doctor,  his  voice  unutterably  tender,  and  he  pressed 
the  little  hand  he  held  within  his  own.  "It  has  been 
waiting  here  for  you  iof  a  kmg,  hxag  tia^  and  its 
owner  wot^  only  be  too  pleased  to  have  yon  a^ 


9^  Th§  Success  af  Pmlw§ 

yourself  of  its  protecting  shelter,  its  great  love  tad 
boundless  peace." 
"I  should  like  to,  Bob,  I  really  shoald,  but  I  am 

afraid  to  take  the  risk." 
"Tak"  what  risk,  Dorothy  ?  I  don't  quite  understand 

you." 

"Myself.  I  am  afraid  to  ride  mysdf,  Bob.  I  am 
afraid  Ae  owner  of  that  landing-place  would  eventu- 
ally control  my  every  thought  and  deed  and  I  should, 
in  time,  become  perfectly  satisfied  with  its  cool  shade, 
its  pleasant  walks  and  quiet  resting  places.  I  should, 
I  fear,  lose  myself  and  my  identity  would  gradually  be 
absorbed  in  ^  greater  identity  which  I  ihould  find 
there." 

"I  assure  you,  Dorothy,"  said  the  doctor  kindly, 
"your  fears  are  groundless.  What  is  really  ours  can 
never  be  lost  Only  the  material  tfahigs  which  we,  in 
our  foolishness  call  Mine,  we  eventually  lose.  But 
those  are  only  the  borrowed  garments  in  which  are 
enfolded  our  lesser  selves.  As  the  years  go  by  and  we 
become  wiser,  a  gfreater  sdf  udces  posaesskm  and  re- 
places that  lesser  self,  and  its  tattered,  worn-out  gar- 
ments drop  away,  one  by  one,  and  we  recognize  and 
gladly  wear  those  that  truly  belong  to  us.  The  things 
of  yesterday  are  forgotten,  and  it  is  well  that  they 
should  be,  for  they  are  but  the  diadows  of  die  tiiiiq^ 
of  today.  Time  cuk  never  be  teat,  etut  nevw  be  wofa 


Doctor  Rou  attd  Dorothy  Go  for  Their  Ride  93 


out,  for  Aey  arc  always  abiduig  and  forever  inde- 
structible." 

Dorothy  shook  her  head  helplessly  but  made  no 

"If  you  should  become  my  wife,"  resumed  he,  **» 
would  not  mean  ^  we  should  lose  our  individnal 
identity,  but  it  would  mean  that  we  would  be  more 
completely  identified  with  each  other.  That  is,  it  would 
simply  be  the  blending  of  yourself  and  myself  in  our- 
self ;  it  would  be  the  union  of  Yoo  and  I  into  We,  and 
our  mutual  efforts  woald  be  so  dhwrted  that  the  happi- 
ness  of  the  You  and  the  I  would  be  assured." 

Impatiently  withdrawing  her  hand  from  his,  Dorothy 
laid  it  over  the  other  one  lying  quietly  in  her  lap.  She 
knew  from  experience  the  futility  of  trying  to  argue 
with  66b.  so  she  coathitied  to  remain  silent 

After  they  had  travelled  some  distance  without 
speaking,  Doctor  Ross,  bending  his  head  down  until  it 
reached  hers,  asked : 

"What  possible  objection  can  yon  have  to  such  a 

union?** 

Forced  to  reply,  Doroliiy  str^ghtened  herself  up  in 
her  seat,  and  said : 

"I  have  only  one,  Bob,  but  that  one  is  sufficient  to 
make  such  a  union,  at  tiie  present  time,  an  impossi- 
bility. I  fear,  nay,  I  know,  it  would  utterly  interfere 
with  tsy  wonmst*^ 


94  The  Success  of  FaUure 

"What  nonsense !  What  ever  put  such  an  idea  M 
that  into  your  head?" 
"It  would,  nevertheless,"  replied  ^he  doggedly. 
"You  are  altogether  wrong,  T  Miy.  Instead  of 
interfering  with  your  service  it  w  -i  enhance  its  value 
a  hundred-fold.  Indeed,  it  is  a  barren  service  in  which 
Love  is  not  admitted." 

"I  am  sorry.  Bob,  but,  just  now,  I  cannot  accept 
•  our  view  of  the  situation."  ^ 

"Not  now,  perhaps,"  he  reluctantly  admitted ;    ^  it, ' 
exultingly,  "the  day  is  not  far  distant  when  you  will- 
nay,  when  you  must— accept  the  situation  as  it  is." 
"As  it  is !  What  do  you  mean,  Bob  ?" 
"I  mean  by  the  barrenness  and  unsatisfying  results 

of  vour  service  ■" 

"It  is  useless  to  continue  the  conversation  along  this 
line,"  she  interrupted  impatiently.  She  was  now  thor- 
ou^ly  annoyed.  "I  cannot  agree  with  you.  Person- 
ally, I  do  not  consider  Service  and  Love  'good  mixers.' 
Separately  they  work  very  well ;  but  when  hitched  to- 
gether they  make  an  obstinate  pair,  and  one  not  easily 
managed.  If  one  or  the  other  does  not  bolt  when  di- 
rected, by  a  gentle  pull  of  the  rein,  to  move  ever  so 
slightlv  from  their  chosen  place  in  the  road,  they  show 
their  aversion  for  each  other  by  balking  when  they  are 
called  upon  to  draw  humanity's  wagon  up  some  fteep 
hill  or  over  some  piece  of  extraordinarily  rou|^  road. 


Doctor  Ross  and  Dorothy  Go  for  Their  Ride  95 

As  they  reach      foot  of  the  hill  or  the  piece  of  rough 
road,  they  come  to  a  halt.  Service  concludes  here  is  a 
place  where  they  should  pull  together,  and  states  that 
fact  to  her  neighbor  on  the  other  side  of  the  tongue. 
Love  surveys  tfie  ground  over  whidi  Service  would 
travel,  and  shakes  his  head—  He  fails  to  agree.  'They 
should,'  he  says,  'continue  along  the  smooth,  if  longer, 
road,  and  thus  spare  the  occupants  of  the  wagon  the 
bumps  and  jolts  which  they  cannot  hope  to  escape  if 
they  travel  the  road  sdected  by  Service.  He  al«o  pcmits 
out  the  possibility  of  someone  foiling  from  tht  wagon 
and  getting  hurt  and  might,  in  the  eagerness  of  ervice 
to  reach  the  top  of  the  hill,  be  overlooked  and  left  at 
the  roadside  to  die.'  Service,  disgusted  with  what  she 
calls  'Love's  Jack  of  backbone/  (ktemaines  to  draw  tiie 
wagon  up  the  hill  alone,  and  despite  Love's  protests 
-     him  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.   Service,  on  the  con- 
not  so  greatly  concerned  about  the  occupants 
.e  vagon ;  her  chief  concern  is  to  reach  the  desired 
destination  with  as  little  dday  as  poniUe.  Hor  busi- 
ness is  'to  get  Acre,'  regardless  of  cost.  'What,'  argues 
she,  'does  it  matter  if  one  or  two  do  drop  off ;  there  are 
always  plenty  only  too  anxious  to  fill  their  seats  in  the 
valley  below?    And,'  concludes  she,  'if  they  caimot 
hang  on  to  their  seats  they  deserve  to  k»e  tiiem, 
anyway.'  " 
"Poor  Love,"  said  the  doctor  sighing. 


96  The  Success  of  PaUwre 

"I  cannot  see  that  Love  is  any  worse  off  than 
Service,"  said  Dorothy,  who  had  regained  her  good 
humor.  "Indeed,  I  Aink  my  »ynip«tWet  we  often- 
times more  wiA  the  latter  Hum  Aey  are  with  the 

former," 

"Poor  Service,  too,  then,"  he  said  dolefully. 

"It's  too  bad,  Bob,  but  it's  no  use;  they  will  not 

"Poor  Love,*'  again  said  Doctor  Ross  with  a  sigh. 

"Why  do  vou  so  greatly  sympathize  with  Love  In- 
stead of  with  Service?"  demanded  Dorothy.  "I  am 
sure,  if  anything,  he  is  the  more  refractory  ol  Ae  two. 

"He  would  not  be,"  mused  the  doctor,  "if  he  could 
prevail  upon  Service  to  banish  the  tongue  wWch  sep- 
arates them." 

"But  why  do  you  feel  so  sorry  for  Love?  persisted 

Dorothy.  .... 

"Because  he  is  so  often  given  credit  with  bemg  some- 
thing he  is  not  He  is  supposed  to  be  blind  when  he 
has  excellent  eye-sight ;  he  is  supposed  to  be  deaf  when 
his  hearing  is  acute;  he  is  supposed  to  be  dumb  when 
from  his  lips  flow  words  of  no  light  meaning.  He  » 
supposed  to  be  old  and  of  misoond  mkiA,  when  his 
yooth  is  everlasting  and  his  wisdom  that  of  the  ages 
past  and  of  those  to  come ;  he  is  supposed  to  be  a  beg- 
gar, when  he  is  a  king  reigning  over  an  eternal  kmg- 
dom.  '^^ainly  he  pleads  with  Service  to  be  its  queen. 


Doctor  Ross  and  Dorothy  Go  for  Their  Ride  97 


but  she,  owing  to  her  maiorial  blindness,  her  worldly 
deafoeM,  her  ceaseless  chatter  and  her  boasted 
ephemeral  knowledge,  is  totally  unable  to  recognize  the 
king  in  her  wooer  and  to  appredale      kingdom  ow 

whfch  he  reigns.**  .  , 

"Pbor  Service,"  M  I>OIO%  siitMticaUy,  she  U 

terriblv  afflicted." 

"She  is  terribly  handicapped,"  retorted  the  doctor. 

"Then  why,"  asked  Dorothy  impatiently,  "does 
stand  protesting  at      foot  of  Ae  hill  when  his  place 
should  be  at  the  other  side  of  the  tongue  helping  her 
to  draw  the  load  up  the  hill  ?" 

"Because,"  slowly  and  emphatically  replied  the  doc- 
tor, "the  province  of  Love  is  to  rule  and  that  of  Service 
to  dbty.  Indeed,  if  he  shoitfd  caamA  to  travel  by  her 
side  up  the  MH,  some  great  change  would  take  place 
and  his  name  would  then  be  Indiiference.  The  work 
of  Love,  Dorothy,  is  to  make  the  crooked  path  and  the 
steep  places  straight  and  to  smooth  tfie  roughened 
road." 

^'Why  doesn't  he,  then?"  sharply  asked  she. 

"He  does.  Surely  he  is  not  to  blame  if  Service  per- 
sists in  selecting  her  own  road,  nor  for  the  fact  that 
she  is  bound  to  get  stuck  hdon  she  is  half-way  up 
thehiU." 

Dorothy's  response  was  an  exctamation  of  ua^ 
tience. 


r**  Success  of  Paiiwr* 


Doctor  Ross  repUed  by  reaching  over  and  ^^^^ 
small  rebellious  hands  that  refused  to  keep 
held  them  firmly  in  his  own,  and  nrnsingly  cootiiwied : 

-Poor  Service,  you  ftwrted  off  proudly  enough,  so 
sure  were  you  you  could  reach  the  top  alone;  but  you 
had  hardly  left  Love  behind  before  you  began  to  notice 
the  tongue  at  your  side  was  weighing  h^^^y  «P^" 
and  hindering  to  a  great  eictent  the  polKiig  of  the  lowL 
The  creaking,  creaking  of  the  wheel*  as  they  revolve 
slowly  around  is  beginning  to  wear  upon  your  nerves 
and  causes  you  to  become  somewhat  irritable  and,  as 
you  slacken  your  pace  a  little  to  glance  up  the  hmorou 
note  with  grave  apprehenskm  it  is  steeper  and  lo^ 
toyotthclieved,andyooarefarfroinAetep.  Hu- 
manity's wagon,  which  seemed  so  easy  to  draw  when 
Love  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  tongue,  is  now  be- 
coming  harder  and  harder  to  puU  along-«id  wy, 

how  tired  you  are!   . 

"With  aching  head  and  muscles  so  strained  they  are 
Winnmg  to  assert  themselves,  you  feel  keenly  what 
yott  consider  is  'Love's  base  desertion  of  you.  That 
you  may  have  deserted  him  does  not  for  a  moraent 
occur  to  you.  Incensed  that  he  AouM  have  left  you 
to  pull  the  toad  alone,  you  determine  to  show  him  that 
you  are  capable  of  doing  it  and  put  forth  an  extra 
effort  This  causes  you  to  stumble  and  fall.  Slightiy 
perturbed,  but  in  no-wise  discouraged,  you  pick  your- 


Doctor  Ross  and  Dorothy  Go  for  Thiir  RUt  99 

self  up  and,  shaking  the  harness  in  place,  pull  long  and 
hard  to  start  the  v/agon ;  but,  to  your  dismay,  it  refuses 
to  budge.  Stuck  "ou  are, — and  not  half-way  up  the 
hill.  After  repeated  efforts,  yoa  hilf-w»y  eoochide 
there  is  but  one  thing  left  to  do,  and  that  is  to  turn 
around  and  go  back.  How  you  hate  to  do  that,  so  you 
pive  another  long  and  hard  pull; — but  to  no  use. 
There  is  no  help  for  it ;  back  you  must  go.  And  so 
you  turn  around  and  go  btdc.  But,  strmge  to  9%y, 
the  road  does  not  seem  Ibe  seme,  and  you  wonder,  as 
you  jog  along,  how  you  could  have  failed  to  notice  the 
sickly-looking  trees  at  either  side  and  the  brownish- 
colored  grass,  with  ne'er  a  green  blade,  covering  their 
roots;  also,  how  tiie  many  stnuqidy  appearing  <A>|ccts 
which  line  the  wayside  could  have  escaped  your  ob- 
servation. These,  curiously,  instead  of  arousing  > 
interest  fill  you  with  a  vague  dread,  and  vith  ht  lU 
averted  you  hasten  on  anxiously  eager  to  reach  ti» 
bottom  of  the  hilL  Here  you  arr  met  by  L  ive,  when 
without  a  word,  takes  his  place  at  i..':  other  side  of  the 
tongue,  and  humanity's  wagon  quietly  proceeds  along 
the  road  selected  by  Love,  the  only  one  by  which  it 
can  safely  traveL" 

As  &e  doctw  fiidsfaed  speaking,  he  released  Dofo- 
thy's  hands  and  drawing  them  back,  she  said : 

"I  don't  want  to  be  rude,  Bob^  Imt  let  us  change  tiie 
conversation.** 


100  Thi  Success  of  FaUurt 

"Very  well.  Dorothy,"  repUed  the  doctor,  itifliiig  a 

sigh,  "what  shaU  it  be?" 

"TeU  me  about  your  work.  Boh.  In  your  pro  cs- 
•ion  eadi  day  must  bring  you  -ome  new  and  mter- 

estiiur  leature."  ,  . 

"T^y  are  not  so  new  and  interestmg  to  the  phy- 
sician as  they  are  to  the  laity.  You  see  he  behol^A^ 
in  all  their  nakedness;  they  sUnd  before  hmi  denu^ 
of  all  their  high-sounding  and  mamfold  name^  wluoi 
so  befog  the  mind  of  the  laky,  and  are  recognizee  by 

him  to  be  what  they  really  are.  ^^^^f^^^'T.^''^^ 
a  diagno«8  they  are  Gripped  of  everythmg  that 

would  prevent  a  cure. 

"I  see  " 

"No.  you  don't,  Dorothy.  I  only  ^"^^ 

"WeU,  I  am  trying  to,"  quickly  retorted  she.  That 

ought  to  satisfy  you." 
•'Neverflidess,  it  does  not." 

"Wdl,  it  diould.  Anyway,  I  think  it  is  time  we 
tamed  around  and  went  back.  John."  directed  she 
"when  we  come  to  the  next  block  turn  the  car  around 

tnd  go  back."  w^w* 
John  deigned  no  answer,  but  passed  the  next  Wocit 

and  went  strug^  <»•  . 
Thinking  he  had  not  heard  her,  Ae  repeated  her 


Doctor  Ross  and  Dorothy  Go  for  Their  Ride  loi 

J" 

order  in  a  knider  tone  of  voice,  but  this  also  failed  and 
the  car  sped  on.  She  then  leaned  over  and  touched 
him  on  the  arm,  and  to  this,  too,  he  failed  to  respond. 
As  the  car  continued  to  go  on,  she  looked  enquiringly 
at  Doctor  Ross,  and  asked : 
"What  docs  Ail  meanr 

"111  ask  him  and  see.  Jdm,  did  you  not  hear  Miss 
Richardson  tell  yott  to  torn  the  car  around  and  go 

back  a  few  minutes  ago  ?" 

"I  did,  sir,"  replied  John,  much  to  Dorothy's  aston- 
ishment. 

"And  you  refused  to  do  it?" 

"I  did,  sir." 

"Why?" 

"Because  you  did  not  order  me  to  do  so,  sir." 

"And  you  refuse  to  take  orders  from  anyone  but  me, 

is  that  it?" 
"I  do,  sir." 

"You  are  an  exceptional  servant,  John,"  replied  Doc- 
tor Ross,  a  note  of  wpgnckldoa  in  his  voice. 
"Decidedly  so,*V  assented  Dorothy.   **However,  I 

should  think  you  would  find  that  sort  of  tfattg  rather 
provoking  and  embarrassing  at  times." 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  have,"  replied  the  doctor.  Then 
turning  to  John,  he  said : 


102 


The  Success  of  FaUure 


"At  the  next  corner  you  may  turn  tiie  car  around 
and  we  will  go  bade." 
"Very  well,  sir." 

At  the  corner  the  car  turned  around  and  they  were 
soon  speeding  homewards,  Dorothy  sitting  quietiy  back 
in  her  seat  and  the  doctor  beside  her  wrapped  in 
thought. 


CHAPTER  VII 


MSS.  ARCHEK  KCOGNIZES  AN  OLD  FBIEKD 

"TV  /l^^  Archer,"  said  Doctor  Ross  from  the  door- 
iVl    way,  his  hat  in  one  hand  and  an  open  telegram 
in  the  other,  "I  expect  an  out-of-town  patient  in  this 
morning.  If  she  should  arrive  before  I  return  make 
her  as  comfortable  as  possible.  Kindly  file  this  away," 
and  he  gave  her  the  telegram. 
"Very  well,  doctor.  What  time  do  you  expect  her?" 
"It's  all  there,"  he  safd,  indicating  by  a  movement  of 
his  head  the  telegram  in  her  hand. 

"Oh,  all  right.  Is  there  anything  else  you  wish  me 
to  attend  to  while  you  are  away  ?" 

"I  think  not,"  he  replied,  glancing  at  his  watch,  "ex- 
cepting, of  course,  tiie  regular  correspondence." 

Mrs.  Archer  nodded  understandingly  and  folded  up 
the  telegram  and  laid  it  under  a  paper-weight  lying  at 
one  side  of  her  desk. 

"Well,  I  must  be  off,"  said  the  doctor,  and  he  turned 
and  hurried  out. 

The  (^ce-door  had  hardly  closed  upon  him  before 
Mrs.  Archer,  with  light,  quick  footsteps,  walked  over 

103 


I04 


The  Success  of  Failure 


to  the  window  and,  concealed  behind  the  curtain, 
watched  him  as  he  ran  down  the  steps  and  took  his 
seat  in  the  automobile.  The  car  started,  and  she 
turned  away  with  a  smile  upon  her  Hps  and,  gathering 
up  the  neat  pile  of  opened,  unanswered  letters  that  was 
lying  upon  the  doctor's  desk,  she  exclaimed : 

"What  a  man  he  is,  and  what  a  privilege  it  b  to 
woxic  for  him !" 

The  more  urgent  letters,  she  knew,  the  doctor  always 
put  on  the  top.  and  these  she  proceeded  to  answer  first. 
The  contents  of  the  telegram  could  wait,  she  concluded, 
for  there  would  be  plenty  of  time  to  acquaint  herself 
with  the  patient's  name  when  the  bell  announced  hwr 
arrival. 

T©  read  the  letters  and  frame  suitable  replies  took 
some  time,  but  at  last  they  were  all  answered  and,  push- 
ing her  chair  back  from  the  desk,  she  got  up  and 
walked  over  to  the  doctor's  desk  and  laid  them  upon 
it  to  await  his  signature,  which  he  regarded  as  being 
an  important  part  of  the  letter,  and  was,  therefore, 
insistent  that  all  communications  purporting  to  be  in- 
dorsed by  htm,  no  matter  how  seemingly  unimportant, 
must  bear  his  personal  signature. 

Glancing  at  the  clock  on  her  way  back  to  her  desk, 
Mrs.  Archer  saw  it  was  ten  minutes  to  twelve,  and 
the  patient  had  not  arrived.  Wondering  if  she  would 
have  time  to  smooth  her  hair,  wash  her  hands  and  get 


Mrs.  Archer  Recognises  an  Old  Friend  105 


readv  for  lundieon  bcfw  she  put  in  an  appearance, 
she  leisurely  shut  the  typewriter  down  in  her  desk  and 
slowlv  drew  the  telegram  from  under  the  paper-weight 
and  was  about  to  unfold  it  when  the  door  of  Ac  doc- 
tor  s  office  opened  and  rairittg  her  eyes  quickly,  she  en- 
countered the  startled  and  terrified  stare  of  a  pair  of 
blue  ones.   The  recognition  was  mutual,  although  it 
was  not  visible  in  the  face  nor  voice  of  Mrs.  Archer, 
who  arose  hastily  and  walked  quickly  over  to  ti»  «de 
of  the  evidently  awe-stricken  young  woman,  uMag  in 
the  composed,  quiet  voice  of  the  nurse : 

"You  are  the  out-of-town  patient  whom  Doctor  Ross 
expects,  are  you  not?" 

"Yes,  but— who-are— you  **  rtammeredtiie  pa- 
tient, her  eyes  scanning  closely  the  calm,  unnsflOed  face 
bending  over  her. 
"I  am  the  doctor's  nurse.  My  name  is  Mrs.  Archer. 
"Pardon  me,  but  you  greatly  resemble  someone 
whom  we  all  have  become  to  believe  is  dead.  My,  but 
it  was  a  shock!"  said  tite  patient,  with  a  pitiful  attend 
at  a  smile. 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Mrs.  Archer,  regarding  the  patient 
with  professional  solicitude.  "Won't  you  sit  down  in 
one  of  these  comfortable  chairs,"  designating  by  a 
slight  movement  of  her  hand  two  large,  leather-up- 
holstered arm-diairs,  "and  make  yourself  as  com- 
fortable as  you  possibly  can  until  the  doctor  returns. 


io6 


The  Success  of  Failure 


which,  I  am  sure,  will  not  be  long,  now  ?  Or,  perhaps, 
you  would  prefer  to  lie  down  here  upon  the  couch  ?" 

"Thank  you,  no ;  I  have  arranged  to  take  luncheon 
with  the  doctor's  sister  and  her  husband,  and  as  it  is 
now  twelve,"  looking  at  a  watch  set  in  gold  bands  and 
fastened  securely  around  her  wrist,  "I  will  not  wait  but 
go  right  over,  and  from  there  will  telephone  Doctor 
Ross  at  just  what  hour  he  may  expect  me  this  after- 
noon," replied  the  patient. 

"Is  there  not  something  I  can  do  for  you  ?"  anxiously 
asked  Mrs.  Archer  as  she  followed  the  playmate  of  her 
childhood  and  the  close  friend  of  her  school-girl  days 
to  the  door. 

"Nothfaig,"  replied  the  i»tient,  turning  and  removing 
her  hand  from  the  door-knob,  "unless,"  and  she  raised 
her  eyes  questioningly  to  Mrs.  Archer's  face,  "you  can 
explain  away  that  unmistakable  likeness." 

"I  am  sorry  I  cannot,"  replied  Mrs.  Archer  regret- 
fully. 

"You  must  think  me  very  rude,"  said  the  patient, 
opening  the  dx>r  and  stepping  out  into  the  hall  fol- 
lowed by  Mrs.  Archer,  "when,  after  all,  it  is  only  a 
passing  likeness,"  and  rfie  closely  scrutinized  the  face 
of  the  nurse.  "My  friend,  cone  to  think  of  it,  would,  I 
tiiink,  by  this  time,  look  older  than  you  do." 

Mrs.  Archer  smiled  assuringly  down  into  the  pale 
face  with  its  tired  lines,  and  said,  as  she  opened  the 


Mrs.  Archer  Re  ygnises  an  Old  Friend  107 

street-door:  "I  will  tell  the  doctor  you  were  here  and 
communicate  your  message  to  him." 

"Thank  yott,  if  you  wiU  be  so  kiad,"  responded  she 
as  she  went  down  the  steps.  Then  entering  the  taxi- 
cab,  drawn  up  at  the  curb,  she  turned  her  head  and 
smilingly  bowed  farewell  to  Mrs.  Archer  standing  in 
the  doorway. 

Vainly  struggling  to  maintain  her  wonted  composure, 
Mrs.  Archer  closed  the  door  and  went  back  to  her 
chair  in  front  of  her  desk  and  sat  down.    The  thing 
that  she  had  dreaded  for  the  past  six  years  had  at  last 
happened,  and  there  was  no  longer  any  safety  in  Ac 
thought  that  she  was  actually  lost  to  all  of  her  old  asso- 
ciations. What  guarantee  had  she  now  that  the  same 
thing  might  not  occur  again  and  that  the  identity 
which  she  was  beginning  to  think  she  was  wholly  jus- 
tified in  believing  was  really  dead  and  buried,  might 
not,  at  any  time,  be  resurrected  and  brought  forth  for 
all  who  had  once  known  it  to  know  it  once  more  and 
learn  of  its  regrettable  history,  which  she,  for  Ro?  aid's 
sake  had  striven  so  hard  to  conceal  ?  She  had  not  any 
There  was  but  one  thing  to  do,  she  concluded  after 
much  thought,  and  that  was  to  refuse  to  recognize, 
at  all  times,  the  resurrected  identity.   Dead  she  was 
to  all  who  had  ever  known  her,  and  she  determined, 
come  what  might,  she  would  so  remain ;  and  that  she 
was  Mrs.  Archer,  the  nurse,  and  not  tiie  test  daughter 


io8  The  Success  of  Failure 

of  the  rich,  country  land-owner,  she  would,  fwrcver, 

stoutly  maintain. 

Realizing  the  grave  danger  of  permitting  her 
thoughts  to  travel  backwards,  she,  with  exceptional 
strength  of  will,  mentally  cl<»ed  Uie  door  upm  the 
things  belonging  to  the  years  of  her  childhood  and 
young  womanhood;  and  with  the  vision  of  her  little, 
blind  son  before  her,  she  wrapped  herself  up  in  the 
present,  closed  her  eyes  to  the  past  and  refused  to  kxk 
into  the  future. 

When  the  bell,  announcing  luncheon  was  ready,  rang 
out  from  the  foot  of  the  basement  stairs,  Mrs,  Archer 
had  succeeded  in  banishing  from  her  mind  all  disturb- 
ing thoughts,  and  rising  from  her  chair  she  walked 
briskly  over  to  the  wa^-bowl  and  bathed  her  face  and 
hands  in  clean,  cool  water.  She  dried  them,  and  then 
stepped  quickly  over  to  the  mirror  to  assure  herself 
that  her  hair  w..s  in  order  and,  at  the  same  time,  scan- 
ning her  face  to  see  if,  by  any  chance,  a  trace  of  her 
recent  agitation  was  left  there.  Satisfied  that  there 
was  none  and  that  she  appeared  as  usual,  she  turned 
away  and  with  the  habitual  half-smile  playing  about 
her  lips  passed  into  the  hall,  down  the  stairs  and  took 
her  seat  at  the  dining-room  table,  greetiiig  with  a 
cheery  smile  and  nod  the  four  perscms  already  seated 
there. 

She  had  finished  eating  her  luncheon  and  was  about 


Mrs.  Archer  Recognises  an  Old  Friend  109 


to  follow  the  last  of  the  four  persons  up  the  stairs  when 
Doctor  Ross  walked  into  the  dining-room.  Glancing 
at  her  with  one  of  his  grave  smites,  he  said,  surveying 
thr  -mpty  seats,  "I  am  late." 

"Not  so  very,"  she  assured  him. 

"I  was  unavoidably  delayed,"  he  explained,  drawing 
out  his  chair  and  sitting  down  to  the  table.  "I  was 
unfortunate,  or  rather  fortunate,  enot^  to  bowl  some 
poor  fellow  over  with  my  car." 

"Oh,  my !  Was  he  badly  hurt  ?" 

"No,  more  surprised,  I  should  say,"  he  replied,  be- 
ginning to  eat  the  soup  which  Maud  placed  in  front 
of  him.  "But  not  more  so  Uian  I  when  I  got  a  chance 
to  lode  into  his  face,  for  although  he  failed  to  recognize 
me  I  knew  him  at  once.  When  he  was  a  boy,  he  and 
I  were  play-fellows ;  indeed,  up  to  the  time  of  his  young 
manhood  we  were  the  best  of  friends." 

"And  you  st(q>ped  to  talk  over  old  times,  I  suppose?" 

"In  a  way,  yes.  But  what  realiy  kept  me  was  trying 
to  make  him  recollec:  who  I  was,  for  he  appeared  to 
be  totally  unable  to  recall  that  such  a  person  as  I  had 
ever  existed;  and  thought  it  strange  that  I  should  be 
able  to  recognize  hhn  when  he  eoald  not  bring  to  his 
recollection  a  thing  whidi  would  idoitify  me  to  him 
or  that  could,  in  any  way,  render  my  face  familiar. 
Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  the  lines  in  his  face,  I  assured 
him  I  would  know  his  honest,  gray  eyes  anywhere. 


XIO 


The  Success  of  Failure 


The  mention  of  his  name  and  tiiat  of  the  school  he 
attended  appeared  to  puzzle  him  even  more.  How- 
ever, after  much  persuasion  on  my  part,  he  at  last  con- 
sented to  a  renewal  of  the  acquaintanceship,  which  I 
shall  endeavor  to  have  grow  and  ripen  into  the  dd 
friendship  of  \oag  ago." 

"In  your  enthusiasm  at  meeting  an  old  friend,"  re- 
minded Mrs.  Archer  smilingly,  "you  have  forgotten  to 
ask  about  your  out-of-town  patient." 

"Sure  enough!"  excUumed  he.  "Did  die  arrive?  If 
so,  what  has  become  of  her?  There  was  no  cme  in  die 
office  when  I  came  in  a  few  moments  ago," 

"She  did,  but  not  finding  you  here  she  decided  to  go 
over  to  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Gordon's,  where,  she  stated, 
she  had  promised  to  take  lundieon.  She  said,  also,  she 
would  telephme  you  frcm  &>«re  just  at  what  hour  you 
might  expect  her  this  afternoon." 

"That  is  not  surprising,  for  she  and  Mrs.  Gordon 
are  great  friends." 

As  he  iSnished  speaking,  the  telephone  bell  rai^,  and, 
with.  "That,  in  all  probability,  is  she  now,"  Mrs.  Archer 
hastily  left  the  room,  ran  up  the  stairs  and  into  the 
office.  She  took  down  the  receiver  from  its  hook  and, 
in  response  to  her  gentle  "Hallo,"  Mrs.  Gordon  impera- 
tively requested  her  to  ask  the  doctor  to  come  to  Ae 
telephone. 

"Wait  a  moment  and  I  will  call  him,"  replied  Mrs. 


Mrs  Archer  Recognises  an  Old  Friend  ill 


Archer,  placing  the  receiver  upon  the  stand,  and  going 
to  the  head  of  the  stairs  she  called  down,  "You  are 
wanted,  doctor." 

"ni  be  right  there,"  he  answered  back,  and  rising 
from  the  ta'^Ie  he  hurried  up  the  stairs.  "Mr».  Leigh, 
I  suppose  ?"  he  queried  when  he  readied  tiie  top. 

"No,  Mrs.  Gordon." 

He  placed  the  receiver  to  his  ear,  and  Mrs.  Archer 
went  into  her  office  and  closed  the  door.  Shortly  after- 
wards it  was  opened  by  the  doctor,  who,  evidenUy,  was 
going  right  out.  for  he  carried  his  hat  in  his  hand.  Mrs. 
Archer  raised  her  head  from  the  instrument  she  was 
cleaning  and  smilingly  looking  in  his  direction  awaited 
instructions. 

"Mrs.  Archer,"  said  he  smiling,  "I  have,  I  know,  a 
pleasant  surprise  for  you." 
"You  have,"  ref^ed  die  laus^iing,  "I  am  glad  to 

hear  it." 

"Yes,  I  have  instructed  John,  after  he  leaves  me  at 
Doctor  Gordon's,  to  call  for  you  here  and  take  you  and 
Ronald  for  a  ride  through  the  park,  or,  if  not  there, 
anywhere  else  you  may  wish  to  go.  This  win,  I  trust, 
recompense  the  little  feUow  for  disappointment  of  a 
few  weeks  ago." 

"T'^-it  certainly  is  a  pleasant  surprise,"  said  ATrs. 
Archer,  delighted  at  the  prospect.   "But,"  appr^hcn- 


112 


Tki  Success  of  FaHwrs 


sivel> ,  "are  yott  fure  you  will  not  need  me  this  after- 
noon?" 

"Yes,  I  have  to  see  Mrs.  Leigh  at  Doctor  Gordoat 
office.  If  you  are  back  five,  Aat  will  be  time  enoiigh. 
I  expect  a  patient  between  five  and  six  o'clock." 

"You  are  very  kind,  doctor,  and  I  know  Ronald  wiU 
enjoy  the  ride." 

"Yes,  I  am  sure  he  will.  Poor  little  chap,  his  amuse- 
ments are  not  very  many." 

"Indeed,  they  are  not,"  agreed  Ae,  sighing. 

"Wen,  be  back  at  five,  if  you  can,"  said  the  doctor, 

turning  about  and  going  out. 

The  door  had  hardly  closed  upon  him,  before  Mrs. 
Archer  stood  in  front  of  the  telephone  and  was  caUing 
up  the  number  of  the  apartment  house  in  which  hers 
was  tocated  and  in  response  to  the  almost  immediate 
"Hallo,"  was  requesting  to  be  connected  with  apart- 
ment twenty-six. 

There  was  a  faint  click,  and  then  Martha's  voice 
asked:  "Who  is  it?" 

"It  is  I,  Martha.  Lift  Ronald  upon  a  chair,  I  want 
to  talk  to  him." 

Very  soon  her  little  son's  voice  in  a  shrill,  "Hallo," 
came  over  the  wire. 

"This  is  mother,  darling,  and  she  has  a  big  surprise 
in  store  for  her  little  man.  TeU  Martha  to  get  you 


Mrs.  Arektr  RfcogniMU  m  Old  Primd  113 

ready  at  once  and  bring  you  over  to  the  doctor's 
office." 

"Oh— mamma !"  d^^iMfy  exdftinied  the  diikl,  **i§ 

it  truly  big?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  truly  big.  You  just  wait  and  see  if  it 
isn't  Now  let  mother  speak  to  Martha." 

"Daft  an  right,  nrn^am,"  interpolated  Martha,  "I 
heerd  iHiat  you  said." 

"You  did !"  laughed  Mrs.  Archer.  "Thcs  yout  head 
must  have  been  right  by  Rcmald's." 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"Then  let  lae  aay  goodbgr  to  hha." 

"I'm  here,  nuumna,"  la^  Ranald. 

"Mother  must  say  goodby,  now,  6uUagt  lor  ^  haa 
lots  to  do  befere  you  come  over." 

"Goodby,  mamma,  don't  lose  the  s'priie." 

"I  wooV  assured  hit  mother.  "Hurry  up,  r  w, 
and  don't  keep  it  waiting." 

"All  wight.  Goodby,  mamma." 

"Goodby,  little  son,"  she  answered  back  and,  hail- 
ing up  the  receiver,  went  back  to  her  work. 

At  half-past  two  her  woric  was  all  done  and  she  vu 
sitting  down  waiting  for  Martha  and  Ronald  to  arrive. 
The  doctor's  automobile,  with  John  sitting  in  front, 
stood  at  the  curb.  She  smiled  as  she  looked  out  of  the 
window  and  saw  the  motionless  figure,  and  wondered 
as  she  rose  to  get  her  hat  and  coat  if  he  would  come 


114 


The  Success  of  Failure 


in  and  tell  her  he  was  ready  to  take  them  for  a  ride. 
He  did  not.  This,  evidently,  had  not  been  a  part  of 
his  instructions,  and  he  would  not  depart  one  iota 
from  them.  Indeed,  it  was  not  untU  five  minutes  later 
when  she  said,  standing  on  the  sidewalk  with  her  boy's 
hand  in  hers,  "Here  we  are,  John,"  that  he  removed  his 
eyes  from  the  enchanting  distance.  Then  he  got  down 
and  opened  the  door,  saying : 

"The  doctor's  orders  are,  ma'am,  to  take  you  and 
your  little  boy  through  the  park,  or,  if  you  do  not  care 
to  go  there,  anywhere  else  you  may  wish  to  go." 

"The  park  will  do,  John,"  replied  Mrs.  Archer  as 
she  lifted  Ronald  into  the  automobile  and,  quickly  fol- 
lowing, seated  him  on  a  seat  beside  her. 

Witfiout  another  word  John  closed  the  door,  mounted 
his  seat  and  started  the  car  in  the  direction  of  the  park. 

"Oh— mother,  this  is  a  'truly  big  s'prise !' exclaimed 
Ronald  excitedly,  sitting  straight  up  in  his  seat,  his 
sightless,  blue  eyes  wide  open  and  his  baby-liands 
clasped  tightly  together  in  his  lap. 
"I  am  glad  my  boy  thinks  so." 
"Oh,  ves,  this  is  'bootiful'!"  tilting  his  chin  slightly. 
Mrs.  Archer  smiled  at  the  word  "bootiful."  To  her 
it  meant  a  great  deal,  for  it  was  only  the  pleasant  inter- 
ruptfons  in  his  quiet,  baby  life  that  he  called  "bootiful." 
The  unpleasant  ones  seemed,  in  his  child-mind,  to  take 
on  an  ugly  shape,  and  they  were  not  "bootiful." 


Mrs.  Archer  Recognises  an  Old  Friend  115 

As  the  car  turned  into  the  park  entrance,  Rcmald 

said: 

"Tell  me  when  we  come  to  the  park,  mother." 
"We  are  rig^t  Aere,  now,  darling." 

"Are  there  any  'quiwels,  mother?" 

"I  don't  see  any  yet,  dear,  but  mc^er  will  keep  her 

eyes  open." 

"My  eyes  are  open,  mother,"  said  Ronald,  puzzled, 
pttttingr  a  little  hand  up  to  h»  eyes.  "Why  can't  I  see 
the  'quiwels?  Do  <nily  big  ladies  and  trig  nKUS  see 
when  their  eyes  are  open  ?" 

"Not  always,  little  son,"  suppressing  a  sigh,  "mother 
is  sorry  to  say." 

"But  you  do,  don't  you,  modier?" 

"Mother  tries  to,  dear." 

"If  I  keep  my  eyes  opoi,  mother,  will  I  see  when  I 
grow  to  be  a  big  man  ?" 
"Mother  hopes  so,  son." 

Ronald  was  silent  for  several  minutes,  then  he  asked : 
"Don't  you  see  any  'quiwels  yet,  mother  ?" 
"Mother  is  looking  for  them,  dear.  Yes,  she  sees 
one  now.  He  is  sitting  up  on  his  little  hind  legs  and 
is  holding  a  nut  in  hb  paws.  Poor,  little  chap,  he  has 
to  nibble  off  the  sheU  to  get  the  nut  widch  is  inside. 
And  there  is  another  one  running  down  the  trunk  of 
the  tree  over  there.  And  there  is  one  scampering  after 
another  one  on  the  grass,  his  long,  bushy  tail  trailing 


ii6  The  Success  of  Failurt 

behind  him.  There  are  loU  and  lots  of  squirreU,  and 
such  cunning,  little  fellows  they  are,  too." 

"Do  the  'quiwels  always  Irve  in  the  park,  mother?" 

"Yes,  darling." 

"Can  the  'quiwds  see  other  'qu'web,  mother? 

"Sometimes,  son." 

"Then  I'd  like  to  be  a  'quiwel." 

"What!  and  live  in  the  park  away  from  mother?" 

"You  could  be  a  'quiwel,  too,  couldn't  you,  mother?" 

"But  mother  does  not  think  she  would  care  to  be  » 
squirrel,  and  is  not  sure  Ae  would  like  her  boy  to  be  a 
squirrel,  either.  She  loves  him  just  as  he  is." 

"But  then  I  could  see  you,  mother.  Wouldn't.you 

like  that?"  ^  ^ 

This  was  too  much  for  Mrs.  Ardier,  and  »e  bent 
over  and  ten<terly  lifted  the  child  upon  her  lap,  saying, 
as  she  wrapped  I  it  arms  tightly  around  him,  "Indeed, 
mother  would,  honey-boy.  But  we  won't  talk  any  more 
about  the  squirrels.  Just  lie  quietly  here,  in  naofliw's 
arms,  and  she  wiU  teU  you  a  story.  What  shaU  I  teU 
you?" 

"About  the  crying  of  the  trees  and  the  flowers, 
mother,"  said  Ronald,  settling  cown  in  his  mother's 
arms.  "I  like  that  story." 

"Yon  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Archer,  placing  dulds 
head  more  comfortably  upon  her  arm,  **the  one  which 
tells  of  how  ^e  wind  and  the  rain  came  and  made  the 


Mrs.  Archer  Recognizes  an  Old  Friend      1 17 

trees  and  flowers  cry,  and  how  afterwards  the  sun 

came  out  and  kissed  them  with  his  warm,  soft  rays  and 
dried  their  tears  and  told  them  to  stop  their  crying 
and  lift  up  their  heads  and  sing  a  song  which  would 
make  all  the  people  glad?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ronald,  hb  month  o^aakag  into  a  yawn. 

"That's— a— nice-ttory         You  like  it,  too,  don't 

you,  mother?" 

"Yes,  I  think  it  is  a  very  nice  story,  but  if  mother 
does  not  b^n  right  away,  I  am  afraid  her  boy  will  be 
asleep  before  it  is  half-told." 

"I'm  not  sleepy,  mother,"  asnired  RomM,  "I'm  jnit 
tired.  You  begin  the  story." 

True  to  her  prediction,  however,  she  had  not  pro- 
ceeded far  with,  tiie  irtory  before  Ronald,  Inlted  by  tiie 
air  and  tiie  n^gki  motion  of  the  automolHli^  was  soon 
fast  asleep. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCESHIP  RENEWBD 

**•  I  UERE  is  nothing  the  matter  with  you,  TtKKnpscm,'' 

1  said  Doctor  Ross,  after  a  careful  examination 
of  that  gentleman's  person.  "My  automobile,  colliding 
with  your  physical  structure,  shook  you  up  a  bit,  that's 
an." 

"Thank  you,  doctor,"  replied  someone  with  whom  we 
are  already  acquainted,  Franklin  Thompson,  for  it  was 
he  whom  the  doctor's  automobile  had  bowled  over  that 
morning. 

"Gm't  you  remember  tlie  name  hy  which  yoa  vmed 
to  call  me  wtei  you  were  a  boy,  Frank?"  asked  tfie 

doctor. 

"I  am  sorry,  but  I  cannot,"  replied  Frank  regretfully. 
"You  will  in  time." 

"I  have  not  the  least  objection,"  replied  Frank,  re- 
suming his  coat  and  sitting  down  in  one  of  Ae  doctor's 
comfortable  chairs,  "and  regret,  unlike  you,  my  inabil- 
ity to  recall  any  incident  that  would  establish  in  my 
mind  our  previous  acquaintanceship.  Nevertheless,  it 
^all  not  preveitt  me  (rota  endotvoring  to  mexit  tiie 
frienddi^  n^di  you  ik>w  extend  to  me  so  gefmontfy** 


An  Old  Acquaintanceship  Renewed  119 

"But  only  on  one  condition,"  said  the  doctOT,  "yoa 
must  grant  me  yours  in  return." 

"You  are  very  welcome  to  it,"  said  Frank,  looking 
into  the  grave,  black  eyes  of  the  doctor,  "but,"  smiling 
and  doubtfully  shaking  his  head,  "you  will  find  it,  I  am 
afraid,  of  little  boi^t  to  you." 

"That  is  something  for  me  to  decide,"  said  the  doc- 
tor, extending  his  hand  to  his  now  admitted  friend. 

"And  for  me,  also,"  said  Frank,  rising  and  taking 
tile  doctor's  outstretcbed  hand. 

"In  a  way,  yes,"  agreed  tbe  <k>ctor  as  ^y  iIkx^c 
hands. 

Frank  resumed  his  seat,  and  the  doctor,  standing  in 
front  of  him,  looked  searchingly  into  his  face.  "The 
world,"  a&A  he,  "mart  have  treated  you  pretty  badly 
to  have  made  ycm  forget  your  friends." 

"It  was  not  any  too  kind,  I  can  assure  you,"  said 
Frank,  turning  his  head  to  escape  the  penetrating  gaze 
of  the  doctor's  eyes,  for  he  was  beginning  to  feel  de- 
cidedly uncomfortal^  Tl^y  adced  so  many  questicms 
he  could  not  ansn^  tiiat  he  felt  considerably  relieved 
when  the  clock  upon  the  mantel,  striking  the  hour  of 
six,  attracted  their  owner's  attention  and,  with  a  hur- 
ried "Excuse  me,"  he  stepped  quickly  to  the  door  of 
Mrs.  Archer's  office,  and  said: 

"You  may  go  now,  if  you  wish.  Mrs.  Archer." 

With  a  "Thank  you,  doctor,"  Mrs.  Archer  ck>sed  the 


I20 


The  Success  of  Failure 


typewriter  down  and  rose  from  her  desk.  The  doctor 
then  returned  and,  stretching  himself  out  up<Hi  the 
couch,  gazed  with  half-closed  eyes  up  at  the  ceiling. 

"So  the  world  has  not  treated  you  very  well,  eh, 
Frank?"  said  he  musingly.   "How  is  that?" 

"You  tell  me,  and  111  tell  you.  I  don't  know.'* 

The  doctor  still  continued  to  keep  his  eyes  on  the 
ceiling  as  he  asked : 

"By  whom  were  you  employed  ?" 

"My  employers  were  varied  and  many,"  satirically 
replied  Framk. 

"By  that,  I  should  infer,  you  are  not  a  skilled  wori(- 
man." 

"If  to  do  one's  work  well  constitutes  a  skilled  work- 
man, then  I  have  every  right  to  claim  to  be  one," 
proudly  asso^  Frank. 

"That  is  true,"  agreed  the  doctor.  "Are  y«w  healtit- 
ily  and  helpfully  employed  now?" 

"I  regret  to  state,"  replied  Frank,  wondering  a  little 
at  the  doctor's  way  of  expressing  himself,  "I  am  not 
employed  at  all." 

The  doctor  took  his  eyes  from  the  ceiling  and  gravdf 
smiling  he  turned  his  head  and  regarded  Frank  quizzi- 
cally. "It  has  never  occurred  to  you,  I  suppose,"  said 
he,  "that  what  y(m  have  just  said  is  an  unpossib'Hty." 

"Lack  of  enipk^rF*eitt  an  inqxwsit^Hty?"  OEclainied 
Frank  in  surprise.  "I  dK>nM  liltt  to  bdkve  it  WM  to." 


An  Old  Acquaintanceship  Renewed  121 

"It  is  so,  just  the  same,"  said  the  doctor,  speaking 
with  slow  emi^iasis.  "What  we  call  idleness  does  not 
exist ;  it  is  energ)'  directed  diseaseward.  All  energy  is 
healthy  or  diseased,  helpful  or  destructive.  Waste  of 
energy  is  when  its  products  are  not  good  but  evil.  *By 
their  fruits  ye  diall  know  them.'  By  tiie  products  shall 
the  healthiness  and  helpfulness  of  a  man's  employment 
be  determined; — ^they  will  be  healthy  or  they  will  be 
diseased,  they  will  be  helpful  or  they  will  be  de- 
structive." 

Mrs.  Archer's  mtrance  into  the  room  prohibited 
Frank's  immediate  reply.  She  was  dressed  for  the 
street  and,  as  both  ol  ^e  men  sprang  to  their  feet, 

said: 

"I  am  going,  doctor,  but  don't  let  me  disturb  you." 

"Before  you  go,  however,  Mrs.  Ardier,"  said  die 
doctor,  "permit  me  to  introduce  to  you  my  friend,  Mr. 
Thompson.  He  is  the  young  man  wh(»n  my  car 
knocked  over  this  morning." 

"Indeed,"  replied  Mrs.  Archer  with  a  smile  as  she 
held  out  her  hand  to  Frank.  "How-do-you-do,  Mr. 
Thompson  ?  Y<m  led  no  bad  effects^  I  trust,  from  Utt 
accident?" 

"Forttmately,  no,''  said  he,  as  he  released  her  hand. 

"It  was,  I  should  say,  rather  a  fortunate  acckient," 
said  she  with  a  tow  lat^,  "if  it  nuodiers  you  among 
the  doctor's  friends." 


123 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"I  am  beginning  to  think  so,"  said  he.  "I  presume 

you  are  listed  among  them  ?*' 

"I  should  like  to  believe  so,"  she  said  a  trifle  doubt- 
fully. "However,  I  am  not  sure  that  I  can  boast  of 
that  distinction." 

"We  will  not  keep  you  any  longer,  Mrs.  Archer," 
interposed  the  doctor,  opening  the  door  into  the  hall, 
"I  know  that  little  son  of  yours  is  anxiously  waiting  for 
his  moflier.** 

"Yes,  he  is  counting  the  minutes,  poor,  little  man," 
said  she,  and  with  a  smile  and  a  nod  to  each  she  hur- 
ried out.  The  street  door  closed  upon  her,  and  the 
doctor  returned  and,  taking  his  former  position  upon 
the  couch,  said : 

"Mrs.  Archer  is  my  nurse." 

"Indeed,"  replied  F;ank  indifferently,  sitting  down 
in  his  chair. 

"And  an  excellent  one  she  is,  too." 

"Yes,"  replied  Frank  with  the  same  indifference. 

"Now,  to  come  back  to  you  and  to  your  need  of  em- 
ployment," said  the  doctor,  turning  on  his  side  -"d 
regarding  Frank  smilingly.  "Have  you  ever  thought 
what  a  vital  thing  this  seeking  of  employment  is  in  the 
life  of  a  man?  It  is  a  great  thing  " 

"Indeed,  it  is  a  great  thing,"  excitedly  interrupted 
Frank.  "I  assure  you  I  agree  with  yon  there.  It  is 
the  greatest  thing  I  have  so  far  encountered.    It  is 


An  Old  Acquaintanceship  Renewed  123 


marvelottsly  great  in  its  ability  to  rack  and  rend  a 
man's  soul  as  no  other  human  device  could  ever  rack 
and  rend  his  body.  So  all-absorbing  is  this  great 
thing's  power,  man  is  fast  losing  his  identity  with  the 
personal  pronoun  I,  and  is  rapidly  becomtng  a  miser- 
able walking  'it'." 

"It  is  not  as  bad  as  all  that,  surely,"  said  the  doctor. 

"You've  never  had  to  look  for  work,  perhaps." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  have.  In  fact,  I  am  always  seeking  it" 

"New  patients,  y<wi  mean?" 

"Yes,  new  patients." 

Frank  kxiked  over  at  the  doctor  and  burst  out  laugh- 
ing. 

"You  may  laugh,"  said  the  doctor,  "but,  I  can  assure 
you,  there  is  notfiing  funny  in  the  situation." 

"I  can  quite  believe  it,"  agreed  Frank,  still  laugh- 
ing. "How  do  you  go  about  it?" 

"It  would  take  too  long  to  tell  you  now.  Anyway, 
the  knowledge  of  the  method  is  only  gained  by  those 
engaged  in  sedcing  tiie  work." 

"And  is,  therefore,  I  suppose,  coi^ned  to  gentleman 
in  your  profession." 

"My  profession  is  not  confined  to  any  special  class 
of  individuals.  It  is  one  for  all  classes  and  by  right 
belongs  to  the  whole  world." 

"Myself,  for  instance,"  said  Frank  grimly. 

"Yes,  you.  How  would  you  like  to  enter  it?" 


m  The  Success  of  Failure 

"I  am  too  old  to  think  of  entering  any  prolestioii, 
now,"  replied  Frank,  shaking  his  head. 

"You  might  begin  by  seeking  new  patients  for  me," 
suggested  the  doctor. 

"Tliat's  so,"  admitted  Franlc.  "But  how  in  the  taoM 
of  common  sense  should  I  begin  ?" 

"If  you  agree  to  enter  my  employ,  you  will  simply 
follow  my  instructions." 

Frank  looked  over  questioningiy  at  Ae  doctor  and 
wondered  what  the  instructions  might  be  and  whether 
he  would  be  able  to  follow  them, 

"Think  it  over,"  said  the  doctor  rising,  "while  I 
telephone  down  to  Mrs.  Barstow  you  are  going  to  take 
dinner  with  me." 

Frank  was  still  thinking  it  over  when  the  doctor, 
who  had  finished  telephcming,  laid  a  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  said: 

"Well,  my  friend,  do  you  agree?" 

"Beggars  cannot  be  choosers,"  said  Frank  resigned- 
ly. "I  shall  have  to." 

"That  is  settled,  then,"  said  the  doctor.  "The  terms 
of  the  agreement  can  wait  until  we  have  had  our  din- 
ner," and  they  proceeded  down  stairs. 

In  less  than  half-an-hoar  they  were  through  ^nner 
and  were  mounting  the  stairs  which  led  to  the  upper 
hall.  When  they  entered  the  office.  Doctor  Ross,  be- 
fore sitting  down,  walked  over  to  his  desk  and  pulling 


An  Old  AcqmamUmceMp  Rtmwid 


12$ 


open  a  drawer  at  its  side  drew  from  it  a  sheet  of  paper, 
which  he  handed  to  Frank,  who  had  sat  down  in  a 
chair  nearby. 

"Herein,"  said  the  doctor,  touching  the  paper  with 
his  finger,  "are  the  conditions  under  which  all  must 
work  who  would  enter  my  employ.  Read  the  first  five 
over  carefully,  and  if  you  are  sure  you  can,  without  a 
doubt,  fulfill  them,  sign  your  name  at  tiie  bottom  of 
the  page,"  and  ^  doctor  indicated  by  a  wave  of  bis 
hand  the  pen  and  ink  upon  the  desk. 

"It  is  hardly  necessary  for  me  to  read  them,"  said 
Frank,  "for  it  is,  as  T  told  you,  not  a  matter  of  choice 
but  of  necessity.  1  m;  -t."  And  he  stretdied  forth 
his  hand  itxr  tiie  pen. 

"Oh,  no,  Frank,"  said  the  doctor,  placing  the  pen 
beyond  his  reach,  "that  will  never  do.  If  you  are  not 
interested  in  the  conditions,  I  am  for  you ;  for  no  man 
can  do  good  work  unless  he  fully  understands  the  con- 
ditions under  which  he  winks." 

"Conditions,  or  no  conditions,"  said  Frank,  as  he 
gave  the  paper  back  to  the  doctor,  "I'm  not  likely  to 
quarrel  with  my  bread  and  butter." 

"Well  see,"  said  the  doctor,  and  he  began  to  read 
the  following : 

First— No  discrimination  must  be  made  in  the  seeking 

of  patients. 

Second — No  distinction  must  be  made  between  patients. 


ia6  Th4  Sueeeu  of  PaUmrt 

be  obiei7ed.  <»«>•••     humanity  must 

f uVr^x^v  execute  all  instructions. 

'»"5--To  be  saUsfied  to  live  one  day  at  a  tine  and  <n 
be  contented  with  a  sufficiency  for  that  day.  ^  " 

"Is  there  anything  more?"  asked  Frank  when  the 
<loctor  stopped  reading. 

"Not  for  the  preseitt.  I  think  you  will  find  what  I 
have  read  enough  to  begin  on." 

n  should  say  so.  When  am  I  *o  begin?" 
"Tomorrow,  if  you  wish,"  replied  the  doctor,  hand- 
»ng  the  agreement  back  to  Frank  to  sign.   "Be  here 
not  later  than  lOiie  o'cteck  tomorrow  morning  and  I 
wiJl  give  you  your  instructions  for  the  day." 

"All  right,"  replied  Frank,  getting  up  from  his  seat 
toreachforthepen.  "I'Ubehere.  Ha c  is  tlie  signed 
•gwement,**  and  he  laid  it  upon  the  doctor's  desk. 

Very  well,"  said  the  doctor;  and  just  at  that  mo- 
ment the  office  door  opened  and  Doctor  Gordon  stepped 
mto  the  room. 

"ni  be  with  you  in  a  minute,  Douglas,"  sai'i  Doctor 
Ross,  nsing  and  closing  down  his  desk.  Then  turning 
to  Frank,  he  said: 

"I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  excuse  me  for  I  have  an 
appointment  at  eight." 

Frank,  who  had  already  risen  and  taken  up  his  hat, 
nodded  comprehendingly  and  turned  to  leave. 

"Before  you  g-o,  however,"  went  on  the  doctor,  "I 


Ah  Old  Aequaktmciskip  Rtnmti 


should  be  glad  if  you  would  write  your  address  on  the 
back  of  fl^,**  and  from  a  netrby  table  he  picked  up 
one  of  his  cards,  which  he  handed  to  Frank,  who,  after 

complying  with  the  requeit,  UOd  it  face  upward  upon 
the  table.  He  then  made  his  way  toward  the  door, 
and,  as  he  did  so,  the  doctor  stooped  and  picked  the 
card  up.  The  address  he  found  written  caused  him  to 
exclaim,  "So  you,  Frank,  are  an  inmate  of  Mim 
Dorothy  Richardson's  'home-living  place'." 

"Yes,"  said  Frank,  turning  his  hand  on  the  door- 
knob, "I  have  only  been  there  a  few  days,  though." 

"Wen,  I  am  glad  to  know  you  are  so  nicely  placed. 
I  know  Miss  Richardson  very  well,  indeed.  Do^faw," 
tiirning  to  Doctor  Gordon,  who  was  regarding  Fraidc 
with  unusual  interest,  "let  me  present  to  you  an  old 
friend  of  mine,  Franklin  Thompson.  You  will,  no 
doubt,  be  interested  m  him,  f^v  he  is  a  new  inmate  of 
Dorothy's  'home-living  place." 

"Then  he  is.  indeed,  fortunate,"  said  Doctor  Gordon, 
his  face  wearing  its  usual  friendly  smile  as  he  stepped 
over  to  where  Frank  stood  and  shook  him  warmly  by 
the  hand. 

^  "Doctor  Gordon,"  explained  Doctor  Ross  to  Frank, 

"is  my  brother-in-law." 

"You'll  have  to  hurry,  Bob,"  interposed  Doctor  Gor- 
don in  his  cheery  voice,  "if  we  are  going  to  make  that 
train." 


128 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"That's  so.  Well,  good-night,  Frank,"  said  Doctor 
Ross,  taking  his  hat  and  heavy  automobile  coat  from 
the  rack. 

"Good^iight,"  replied  Frank,  opaang  and  dosmg 
the  door  quietly  behind  him, 

"A  new  patient?"  queried  Doctor  Gordon  as  the 
front  door  opened  and  shut. 

"No,  on  the  contrary,  quite  an  old  one,"  replied  Doc- 
tor Ross,  buttoning  up  his  coat. 

"You  never  mentioned  him  to  me?"  said  Doctor  Gor- 
don questioningly. 

"No,  because  your  remedies  would  not  avail  in  his 
case." 

"I  see,"  said  Doctor  Gordon.  "Are  you  ready?" 
"Yes,"  said  Doctor  Ross,  pulling  <m  his  gloves,  and 
be  led  the  way  to  the  door. 


CHAPTER  DC 


FRANK  KEEPS  HIS  APFOINTI'.ENT  WITH  THE  SOCTtHt 

«•  ooD-MORNiNG,  Mr.  Thompson,"  said  Mrs.  Archer, 
.  Vjl  perceiving  that  gentleman,  as  she  entered,  com- 
fortably seated  in  one  of  the  b^,  leather  chairs  in  the 

doctor's  office. 

"Good-morning,  Mrs.  Archer,"  replied  Frank,  rising 
from  his  chair.  "I  am  waiting  to  see  tlie  doctor." 

"Have  you  been  waiting  long?" 

"No,  only  about  five  minutes." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  she  with  a  smile  as  she  glanced  at 
the  clock,  "but  you'll  have  to  wait  ten  minutes  more. 
The  doctor  never  gets  in  before  n^ne." 

"I  do  not  object." 

"Time  is  not  money  to  you,  then,"  laughed  she,  and 
she  walked  into  her  office  and  took  off  her  .lat  and 
long  coat,  which  she  h  ing  up  on  a  hook  behind  the 
door. 

"No,"  replied  he,  resuming  his  seat,  "if  it  were,  I 

should  be  pretty  well-off  by  this  time." 

"Or,  who  can  say,  worse-off,  perhs^"  mterp(»ed 
the  doctor  from  the  doorway. 

lag 


I30 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"Good-morning,  doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Archer,  "^re 
you  not  a  few  minutes  early  this  morning?" 

"No,"  he  said,  "it  is  nine,"  and  added,  turning  his 
head  in  the  direction  of  Frank,  "You  are  on  time,  I 
see." 

"Yes,  I  thought  it  better  to  be  a  few  minutes  too 
early  than  a  few  minutes  too  late." 

"I  agree  with  you,"  replied  the  doctor,  opening  up 
his  desk.  "And  well  get  r^t  down  to  business  as 
soon  as  I  have  given  Mrs.  Archer  a  few  instructkms 
about  the  mail." 

Mrs.  Archer,  in  the  meantime,  had  adjusted  her  cap 
neatly  upon  her  head,  dusted  off  her  desk  and  laid  her 
note-bode  and  pmcils  diereupcm.  She  was  now  retuly 
for  work. 

The  reading  of  the  morning's  mail  and  the  dictating 
of  replies  thereto  took  but  a  short  time,  and  Doctor 
Ross  was  soon  back  again  seated  in  front  of  his  de^ 
Frank,  at  his  request,  drew  his  diair  up  ck»e  to  its 
ude. 

As  Frank  listened  to  the  strangely  magnetic,  low 
voice  of  the  doctor,  with  its  soothing,  gentle  tones, 
stating  the  duties  of  his  new  employment,  tfie  menial 
atmosphere,  in  which  he  had  hitherto  lived  and  woriod, 

vanished,  and  his  indifference  changed  to  vital  interest 
as  the  doctor  described  the  work  and  the  conditions 
surrounding  it.  The  employment  offered,  promised  a 


Frank's  Appointment  until  the  Doctor  131 

journey  into  a  delightful  country,  governed  and  con- 
trolled by  a  force  strange  and  unknown  to  him.  The 
instructions  given  to  him  were  like  a  new  and  untried 
gospel,  and  Uie  man  wh(^  instructimu  he  had  i^eed 
to  carry  out,  seemed  to  belong  to  a  new  and  different 
humanity.  Strange  though  it  all  was  and  decidedly 
unlike  anything  he  had  ever  undertaken  before,  the 
w  ork  attracted  him  greatly ;  and  it  was  only  the  fear  of 
results  that  caused  him  to  remain  silent  for  a  minute 
or  so  after  the  doctor  had  fini^ed  speakii^.  Then  he 
exclaimed : 

"What  you  propose,  is  wonderful  I  But  do  you  think 

I  can  do  it  ?" 

"Certainly.  What's  to  prevent  yon?"  ref^ed  the  doc- 
tor, smilinjr. 

"Well,  you  know,"  replied  Frank  doubtfully,  "the 
work  is  altogether  new,  and  I  am  fearful  of  results." 

"Although  all  work  is  productive  of  result,  you  are 
not  asked  to  make  tint  a  c«ui<teratkm/'  aud  tilie  doc- 
tor, rising  and  laytt^  his  hand  in  a  frici^y  way  t^KMi 
Frank's  shoulder. 

"But  supposing  I  am  not  able  to  secure  patients?" 
anxiously  inquired  Frank. 

"That  is  not  something  for  yon  to  ccmsider,"  replied 
the  doctor,  smiling  gravely.  "Your  work  is  to  seek 
patients  and  not  to  secure  them.  You  will  have,  I 
promise  you,  plenty  to  do." 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"No  doubt  of  that,"  replied  Frank,  with  a  sad  shake 
of  his  head,  "for  the  world  is  full  of  sick  people." 

"That  is  so,"  agreed  the  doctor;  "but  the  lamentable 
fact  is  so  many  of  them  do  not  know  it.  The  truth  of 
this  you  will  learn  as  you  progress  in  your  wor;.." 

"But  where  am  I  to  seek  these  sick  patients?"  in- 
quired Frank,  rising  from  his  chair.  "Have  you  as- 
signed to  me  any  particular  k>cati<m?" 

"No.  As  you  said  a  few  nK»nent8  ago,  the  world  is 
full  of  them." 

"I  am  privileged,  then,"  said  Frank,  with  a  light 
laugii,  "to  seek  anywhere  and  everywhere." 

"You  are,"  said  the  doctor  smiling.  "But  it  is  only 
fair,  however,  to  warn  you  that  before  you  can  proceed 
in  this  work  with  any  hope  of  success  you  must  begin 
with  yourself  first." 

"Begin  with  myself,  first !"  exclaimed  Frank,  scan- 
ning the  doctor's  face  with  anxious-questioning  eyes. 
"What  do  you  mean?  Didn't  you  tell  me,  only  last 
night,  that  there  was  nothing  the  matter  with  me  ?" 

"That  is  so,"  calmly  replied  the  doctor ;  "but  then  I 
was  speaking  of  that  which  makes  you  recognizable  to 
the  rest  of  humanity,— that  is,  the  physical." 

"Of  what  are  you  speaking,  nowr  adced  Frank, 
slightly  impatient. 

"Of  what  is  really  you,"  answered  the  doctor,  his 
black  eyes  glowing  in  their  somber  light  and  his  mouth 


Frank's  Appointment  with  the  Doctor  133 


extending  into  a  tender  smile.  "The  you,"  his  voice 
dwelling  with  gentle  emphasis  on  each  word,  "without 
which  the  recognizable  could  not  be.  The  you,  my 
friend,"  laying  his  hands  witli  an  indescribable  affection 
upon  Frank's  shoulders,  "which  is  capable  of  knowing 
all  things,  being  all  things,  and, — is  all  things." 

The  doctor  stopped  and,  resuming  his  seat,  looked  up 
smilingly  into  the  face  of  Frank,  whose  only  response 
was  a  mystified  shake  of  the  head. 

"The  you  of  yourself,  Frank,"  continued  the  doctor, 
"about  which  you  know  die  least.  You  have  been  liv- 
ing in  the  shadow,  mai,  step  out  into  the  light." 

"I  v  ould  gladly  do  so,"  said  Frank  hopelessly,  "if  I 
could  locate  the  light." 

"It  is  to  be  found  and  it  waits  to  be  sought,"  replied 
the  doctor  quietly.  "Seek  it." 

"Where?''  demanded  Frank. 

"Within  thyself." 

"I  assure  you,"  replied  Frank  grimly,  "there  is 
naught  but  darkness  within  me." 

"That  is  because  you  will  it  to  be  so.  It  is  your  ac- 
ceptation of  the  meaning  of  life  that  renders  the  light 
within  you  darkness.  And,"  sadly,  "'Great  is  that 
darkness.' " 

"Yes,  indeed,"  repeated  Frank,  wearily  sinkif^  into 
his  chair,  "great  is  tiiat  darkness." 
"And  for  that  reason,  my  friend,"  said  the  doctor, 


'34  The  Success  of  Failure 

"you  are  on  the  sick  list.  Sickness  is  the  child  ut  dark 
ness  and  health  is  the  child  of  light.  Therefore,  seek 
the  light   But  enough  for  today.   I  see  it  is  time  " 
^ancng  at  t^e  dock,  "for  me  to  begin  my  morning 

T""  "''""'t^^eously,  the  doctor  saying  as  he 
took  his  hat  and  coat  from  the  rack,  "I  shaU  expect 
you  to  report  the  progress  you  make." 

"I  will,"  replied  Frank  from  the  doorway.  "Good- 
monung,"  and  he  closed  the  door  and  went  out 


CHAPTER  X 


MBS.  GOBDON'S  DISCOVBBY 

SOME  time  had  passed  since  Frank  became  an  inmate 
of  Dorotiiy's  'home-living  place.'  She  had  seen 
Kttle  of  him  ;  he  came  and  went  quietly  and,  with  the 
exception  of  the  occasional  'good-morning'  or  'good- 
evening'  they  exchanged,  no  conversation  had  passed 
between  them.  His  reticence  and  evident  wish  not  to 
intrude,  ratiier  pleased  her,  yet  there  were  momente 
when  she  wished  it  were  possible  for  her  to  learn  some- 
thing of  his  life, — if  he  were  happy,  how  he  spent  his 
time  and  if  the  conditions  in  which  he  lived  were,  to 
him,  altogether  satisfactory.  She  doubted  the  wisdom, 
however,  of  a  greater  intimacy,  recalling  the  old  and 
well-worn  saying  that  'familiarity  breeds  contempt.' 
True,  she  acknowledged,  it  might  not  prove  so  in  this 
particular  case.  Yet  she  was  not  sure  and,  therefore, 
was  reluctant  to  say  or  do  that  which  might  bring  about 
an  unwished-for  result. 

That  the  saying,  like  many  others,  might  not  be  true 
and  unworthy  of  acceptance,  did  not  occur  to  Dorothy 
as  she  sat  in  her  rocking-chair  by  the  window,  wonder- 

i35 


'36  The  Success  of  Failure 

ing  as  she  watched  his  tall  form  as  it  went  up  the  street 
and  disappeared  around  the  corner,  if  the  'home-living 
place,  perhaps  was  not  a  trifle  lonely  for  one  of  his 
mature  years  The  loud  ringing  of  the  door-beU  broke 
in  upon  her  thoughts,  and  she  heard  the  voice  of  Mrs 

"^f  mT.  %  ''■^^  to  the  door.' 

It  Miss  Richards<Mi  was  in  ?" 

'  She  is,  ma'am,"  replied  Bertha,  standing  at  one  side 
to  permit  her  to  enter.   "You'll  find  her  «  the  front 

room. 

th^^u^te^^^^^  ^-^^ 
"I'm  in  here.  Margaret."  called  out  Dorothy,  rising 

from  her  chair  and  coming  to  the  door. 
"So  I  see."  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  leaving  a  Jight  Idss 

upon  Dorothy's  cheek. 
"Come  and  sit  down  over  here,"  said  Dorothy  turn- 

TrlZt  '"t-"  "^r-^^  *  ^^'-^^-^ 

from  the  rocking-chair  she  had  been  occupying.  "But 

early  in  the  day?  Anything  new ?" 

"N<^  to  me,"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon,  taking  the  pins 
out  of  her  hat  and  laying  it  on  the  table,  "b«t.%rhaP' 
handmg  her  coat  to  Dorothy,  who  crossed  £e  r^ 
and  laid  it  upon  the  couch,  "it  may  be  so  to  you.  Did  I't 
1  tea  you  there  was  a  questionable  reason  for  M  s 
Archer's  reticence?" 


Mrs.  Gordon's  Discovery 


137 


"You  did,"  admitted  Dorothy,  returning  and  seating 
lierself  in  a  chair  opposite  Mrs,  Gordon's.  "And  you 
have  come  over  to  tell  me,  I  suppose,  you  have  dis- 
covered the  reason  ?  How  did  you  do  it  V 

"Quite  accidentally,  or,  perhaps,  I  should  say  provi- 
dentially. ■  replied  Mrs.  Gordon,  establishing  herself 
comfortably  in  her  chair.    "An  old  college  chum  of 

mine,  Mrs.  Leigh  of  Dawson,          You  have  heard  me 

speakof  her,  Ithink?  " 

"Oh.  yes,  I  do  remember,  and,  at  (H-esoit,  she  is  a 
patient  of  Bob's,  is  she  not  ?" 

"Yes.  Well,  when  she  came  into  the  city  to  see  him 
a  few  days  ago,  she  was  amazed  to  note,  upon  meeting 
Mrs.  Archer,  tiie  remaiicaUe  resemUance  she  bore  to 
an  old  schod-friend  of  hers,  who  mysteriously  disap* 
peared  from  home  some  years  ago.  She  remarked 
upon  the  fact  while  taking  luncheon  with  me  the  same 
day  and  was  anxious  to  learn  what  I  knew  about  her. 
I,  of  course,  tdd  her  I  knew  absohi^y  notiiii^  and 
that  Bob  had  engaged  her  when  I  was  away  last  sum- 
mer. She  asked  if  I  thought  Bob  could  give  her 
any  informatio!.  ?  I  told  her  he  probably  could,  if  he 
would,  but  I  doubted  very  much  if  he  would.  This 
seemed  to  depress  her  greatly ;  for,  as  die  said,  it  rather 
increased  than  allayed  her  fears.  There  was  a  differ- 
ence, however,  she  admitted  after  a  while,  for  Hannah, 
she  thought,  would  look  older  than  Mrs.  Archer  ap- 


»38 


Th*  Succas  of  Failure 


pears  to  be.  I,  tlien,  in  turn,  voiced  my  suspicions,  and 
questioned  Mrs.  Leigh  closely ;  but  she  pleaded  to  be 
excused  from  answering  any  of  my  questions,— saying, 
that  if  it  were  possible  to  find  in  Mrs.  Archer  the  long- 
lost  Hannah  Thompson,  she  would  not  want  to  be  the 
channel  through  which  this  news  should  reach  her 
parttrts,  if,  by  any  chance,  there  had  been,  or  was  now, 
a  reason  suffidenti>  great  which,  without  a  doubt,  there 
must  be,  to  keep  her  from  communicating  with  them. 
It  was  only  after  a  long  and  extended  search  through 
this  country  and  abroad  that  they,  she  said,  finally  be- 
came reconciled  to  the  belief  that  her  existence  upon 
this  earth  had  ceased.  Why  then,  urged  she,  disturb 
that  belief,  if  the  daughter,  though  she  be  living  in  some 
untho    '  t  of  corner  of  the  globe,  wished  them  to  so 
consid..  .  her,  knowing,  perhaps,  that  a  cause  existed 
which  made  such  a  belief  best  for  all  concerned  ?  And 
it  was  only  after  much  persuasion  and  argument  and 
after  I  had  promised  not  to  communicate  with  Han- 
nah's pan  ts  in  any  way,  that  I  prevailed  upon  her  to 
tell  me  tl'  name  of  the  town  in  which  they  live." 

"And,  of  course,  you  will  not?"  asked  Dorothy  anx- 
iously, 

"No."  replied  Mrs.  Gordon  with  a  disagreeable 
laugh,  "I  have  found  it  will  not  be  necessary.  Mrs. 
Archer  admitted  to  me  this  morning  that  she  was  Han- 
nah Thcmipson. 


Mrs.  Gordons  Discovery 


"You  forced  her  cmfi^nce?"  exclaimed  IXModiy  us- 

credulously. 

"I  had  to.  I  have  a  brother  to  consider,  Dorothy, 
you  forget  that." 

"And  she  has  a  little,  Mind  son  to  coosider,"  said 
Dorothy  quietly.    "Do  you  forget  that?" 

"That  is  her  affair  and  not  mine." 

"And  she  has  made  it  wholly  hers  for  the  past  five 
years,"  said  Dorothy,  in  the  same  quiet  tone.  "Do  you 
forget  that?" 

"I  have  nothing  to  do  with  that,  Dorothy,"  im- 
patiently exclaimed  Mrs.  Gordcm.  "I  must  consider 
my  brother." 

"Do  you  think  your  brother  will  appreciate  such 
consi^ratimi?"  asked  Dorothy,  smiling  gravely. 

"Bob  never  appreciates  anything  that  is  done  for  his 
good,"  tartly  replied  Mrs.  Gordtm. 

"Have  you  told  him?" 

"No,  Mrs.  Archer  promised  me  she  would  tell  him 
and,  also,  die  would  imnmiiately  leave  his  employ." 

"Will  he  permit  her?" 

"He  will,  if  he  is  not  altogether  a  fool,"  said  Mrs. 
Gordon  angrily. 

*'I  don^  believe  he  will,"  said  Dorothy  with  a  doubt- 
ful shake  of  \m  head.  "Bob  is  always  just" 

"It  is  a  strange  justice,"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon  sneer- 
ingly,  "which  would  lead  him  to  keep  in  his  em{^oy  a 


'40  The  Success  of  Faaurt 

woman  of  uncertain  character,  bringing,  liiereby.  not 
only  unmerited  censure  upon  himself,  but  attracting  un- 
kind cnticwm  to  eveiy  one  connected  with  him.  If  he 
does,  threateningly,  "I  shall  do  what  I  told  her  this 
morning  I  would  do,  write  to  her  parents," 

"Margaret,"  exclaimed  Dorothy  in  amazement, 
surely  you  did  not  resort  to  such  a  threat  to  compel 
her  to  admit  she  was  Hannah  Thompson !" 

"I  certainly  did." 

"Then  you  have  broken  your  promise?" 

"I  have  done  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"Not  in  the  letter,  perhaps,  but  you  have  in  the 
spirit.  When  Mrs.  Leigh  exacted  that  promise  from 
you,  she  had  in  mind  the  protection  of  the  dau^ter  as 
well  as  that  of  the  parents.  Can't  you  see  in  the  be- 
trayal of  the  one  you  have  betrayed  slM?" 

"I  cannot,"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon  decidedly.  "People 
can't  do  wrong  and  then  expect  others  to  cover  up  their 
wrong-doing." 

"It  isn't  always  necessary,  though,"  retorted  Dor- 
othy, "when  It  is  nicely  covered  up  with  good  works 
for  someone  to  come  along  and  uncover  it." 

"I  deemed  it  wise  to  do  so  in  this  case." 

"I  can't  agree  with  you,"  replied  Dorothy  tliought- 
fully.  "I  have  always  believed  .Mrs.  Archer  to  be  not 
only  a  good  woman,  but  a  very  brave  one." 

"Good!  brave!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gordon  in  disgust. 


Mrs,  Gorionfi  DiMovery 


141 


"Nonsense!  What  goodness  is  there  to  be  found  in  a 
girl  who  would  run  away  from  a  good  home  and  in- 
dulgent paroits  wt^  a  man  to  whan  she  was  not  n»r> 
ried  and  live  with  him  in  that  state  until  nearly  the 
time  her  child  was  born  ?  I  fail  to  see  it.  And  what 
bravery  is  there  in  sneaking  into  the  employ  of  a  repu- 
table physician,  hiding  her  identity  with  a  name  not 
rightly  her  own?" 

"Don't  jump  at  conclusions,  Margaret,"  imfmtiently 
said  Dorothy.  "Appearances,  sometimes,  are  very  de- 
ceiving. You  have  no  proof  that  she  is  other  than  what 
I  said,  'bi»;'.e  and  good.'  And,  '^fter  all,  if  what  you 
say  is  true  of  her,  tiie  wrong  is  'u  r  c  m  as^  in  herself 
only  is  its  redemption.  It  is  not  soiu<;tiiing  ioe  you  to 
worry  about.   Let  her  do  that." 

"T  am  going  to,  never  fear,"  spiritedly  returned  Mrs. 
Gordon.  "It  is  Bob  for  whom  I  am  concerned." 

"Oh,  Bob  is  perfectly  capaUe  of  takmg  care  of  him- 
self, and,  ki  all  probability,  will  not  appreciate  \our 
interference  in  his  affairs,"  indifferently  replied 
Dorothy. 

"Probably  not.  Nevertheless,  it  was  Mcettary. 
Dorothy  did  not  inunediatdy  reply,  but  sat  gazing 
thoughtfully  out  <rf  the  window  for  several  moments. 

Then  she  asked: 

"When  is  Mrs.  Archer  expected  to  convey  this  dis- 
agreeable intelligence  to  Bob  ?" 


142 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"Tomorrow  morning.  She  is  to  telephone  me  the 
result  of  the  interview  at  noon." 

''And  you  will,  of  course,  immediately  let  me  know?" 

"Surely.  But,  by  the  way,  how  is  the  'home-living 
place'  progressing?" 

"Fairly  well.  I  have  arranged  for  enlargements." 

"You  consider  the  venture  a  success,  then  ?" 

"Well,  so  far.  I  have  heard  no  complaints." 

"They  will  come  soon  enough,"  thought  Mrs.  Gor- 
don. Aloud,  she  said : 

"And  your  new  inmate?" 

"Oh,  he  is  exceptionally  good;  he  gives  so  little 

trouble." 

"And  you,  of  course,  see  as  little  of  him  as  possible?" 
anxiously  inquired  Mrs.  Gordon. 

"It  is  not  my  fault,  I  can  assure  you,"  said  Dorothy, 
smilinjr  maliciously  across  at  Mrs.  Gordon,  "if  I  do  not 
see  more:  it  is  altogether  his.  for  he  meets  all  of  my 
smiles  and  kindly  greetings  with  a  polite  indifference. 
Without  a  doubt,  Mr.  Franklin  Thwnpson  is  a  discreet 
young  man." 

"He  needs  to  be."  grimly  observed  Mrs.  Gordon  as 
she  reached  for  her  hat  and  put  it  on,  "when  he  has 
such  a  pretty  and  dainty  little  person  as  you  are  for 
his  landlady." 

"Nonsense,"  laughed  DoroUiy. 

"It  is  nothing  of  the  kind."  retorted  Mrs.  Gordon, 


Mrs.  Gordon's  Discovery 


rising  and  taking  her  coat  from  the  couch.  "And  you 
lacked  discretion  when  you  atbnitted  him  into  your 
'home-living  place.' " 

"Perhaps  I  did,  Margaret,"  said  Don^y,  still  laugh- 
ing.  "But  what's  your  hurry?" 

"I  must  get  back  to  the  office  before  Douglas  ar- 
rives," and  Mrs.  Gordon  turned  and  began  to  waUc  to- 
ward the  door. 

Dorothy  rose  and  followed  her,  and  when  they  had 
reached  the  door  leading  into  the  public  hall  and  she 
was  pushing  back  the  latch,  she  said : 

"You  failed  to  obwrve,  Margaret,  tiiat  the  sumanw 
of  my  new  inmate  is  the  same  as  that  which  you  be- 
lieve rightly  belongs  to  Mrs.  Archer.  It  would  be 
strange,  would  it  not,  if  tliey  were  related?" 

"It  would,  indeed,"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon,  stooping  to 
kiss  Dorothy,  "but  I  must  not  stq>  to  talk  any  vaoitt 
about  that.  I  will  telephone  you  some  time  tonK»rrow,^ 
she  added,  and  hastened  down  the  stairs. 

Dorothy  sighed  as  she  closed  tlie  door  and  went  back 
to  her  room.  Mrs.  Archer  and  her  affairs  had  been  a 
source  of  unusual  intemt  Xohec  iat  some  time  past, 
and  she  was  not  a  little  concerned  about  the  probaUe 
outcome  of  the  interview  between  Bob  and  his  nurse. 
That  Margaret's  interference  was  totally  unwarranted 
and  decidedly  inexcusable,  she  knew ;  but,  at  the  same 
time,  die  knew,  too,  the  uselessness  of  tryii^  to  con- 


i44  The  Success  of  Failure 

vince  her  of  the  fact.  Of  its  possible  consequence  to 
the  woman  and  her  Httle  child,  she  did  not  care ;  her 
brother's  reputation  was  he  sole  consideration.  "But 
was  there  not  something  she  could  do,  sometiiing  which 
would  not  offend  Margaret?"  Dorothy  asked  of  her- 
self as  she  sgf  down  in  the  rocking-chair  by  the  win- 
dow. "Well,  she  would  wait  until  tomorrow  and  sec 
what  that  brought  forth,  for,  until  then,  she  could  not 
do  anything,  anyway.  If  Bob  did  permit  her  to  go, 
which,  she  did  not  think  at  all  likdy,  she  would  seek  an 
interview  with  Mrs.  Arche  and  try  to  induce  her  to 
permit  the  'home-living  place'  to  look  after  her  im- 
mediate future." 


CHAPTER  XI 


MS8.  ASCHER  KCOUES  BANNAH  THOMPSON. 

DOCTOR  Ross  sat  in  his  chair  at  his  desk  and  listened 
gravdy  to  tiie  sad  sbHry  whidi  Mrs.  Ardto',  nt- 

ting  on  a  chair  close  by,  was  painfully  endeavoring  to 
tell  him.  Not  once  did  he  raise  his  eyes  from  the  floor 
to  look  into  her  face  until  she  had  finished.  Then  he 
turned  them  upon  her,  and  in  their  Jeptiis  rfic  read, 
what  die  least  e]q)ected  to  read,  a  wonderful  sympathy. 
There  was  someUiing  else,  too,  for  which  she  could  not 

find  a  name          A  something  which  seemed  to  say  so 

comprehendingly,  "I  know.  I  understand."  Then  put- 
ting out  both  hands  he  readied  over  and  took  her  cokl, 
damp  (Mies  and  held  them  tightly  within  his  own  ai^ 
in  a  gentle,  inquiring  tone  of  voice,  said : 

"What  you  have  told  me  was  a  part  of  yesterday, 
why  burden  today  with  it?  It  belongs  to  the  past, 
leave  it  there.** 

"I  firmly  bdleved  I  had  dcme  so,"  replied  Mrs. 
Archer,  the  tears  springing  to  her  eyes,  "but  I  was  mis- 
taken. And  it  seems  as  though  it  were  going  to  be  an 
ever-present  companirai  of  the  future." 

145 


146 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"Not  unless  you  permit  it  to  be  so,"  relied  the  doc- 
tor, gently  releasing  her  hands.  "It  is  our  thoughts  of 
yesterday  and  of  tomorrow  which  cause  us  to  lose  our 
precious  today,  neither  of  which  at  the  present  belong 
to  us ;  for,  mourn  as  we  will  our  regrettable  yesterdays, 
not  one  of  them  is  ours  in  which  to  re-live,  and  exist 
only  in  our  memories.  If  we  are  honest  with  today,  we 
shall  have  no  fear  of  the  tomorrow  nor  regrets  to  waste 
upon  yesterday." 

At  the  doctor's  last  words,  Mrs.  Archer  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands  and  sobbed  audiUy. 

"Come,  come,  Mrs.  Archer,"  continued  the  doctor 
soothingly,  "that's  a  bad  way  to  take  my  advice.  Dry 
your  eyes  and  proceed  with  your  work."  ^  - 

"Oh,  but  you  do  not  know,"  said  Mrs.  Archer,  rais- 
ing her  tear-stained  face  and  tryuig  vainly  to  control 
tfie  tears  in  her  voice,  "how  gladly  I  would  give  all  of 
my  yesterdays  for  the  privilege  of  remaining  in  your 
employ  today." 

"I'll  be  satisfied  with  your  todays,"  said  the  doctor 
gravely,  "and  I  see  no  reason  why  you  should  not  con- 
tinue in  my  employ." 

"Oh,  but  I  have  promised  " 

"I  see,  and  there  is  a  penalty  attached  if  you  do  not 
keep  that  promise?"  mterrupted  the  doctor  inquiringly. 

"Yes,"  hesitatingly,  "Mrs.  Gor<km  will  communicate 
with  my  parents." 


Mrs.  Archer  Becomes  Hannah  Thompson  147 

"No,  but  you  wUl,"  said  the  doctor  decidedly. 

"I!  oh  no,  "  stammered  Mrs.  Archer.   "I  could 

not,        You  do  not  understand         My  mother,  she, 

I  know,  would  fwgive  me,  but  my  father,— he  would 
curse  me  and  wish  me  dead  a  thousand  times." 

"Wishes,  good  or  bad,"  said  the  doctor  smiling, 
"have  neither  the  power  to  mend  nor  to  break  bones. 
However,  this  is  the  demand  of  today  and  you  must 
meet  it,  let  the  consequence  be  what  it  may.  Suppos- 
ing, in  your  place,  grown  to  manhood,  stood  little 
Ronald,  who  had  offended  society,  perhaps  not  just  in 
ihe  way  you  have  but  in  some  other  quite  as  grievous, 
would  you  wish  him  to  obliviate  himself  and  permit 
you  to  bdieve  him  <kad  when  he  was  living  and  in  Med 
of  the  love  and  protectimi  his  mother  could  give  him? 
I  think  not.  No  matter  what  the  transgression,  he 
would  still  be  your  son,  your  little  man,  your  baby 
Ronald,  and  you  would  love  him  in  spite  of  anything 
he  would  or  could  do.  Cxxat  now,  be  fwr  widi  your- 
self, is  it  not  rather  a  qu(^ion  of  pride  on  your  part 
than  consideration  for  your  parents  ?" 

"Perhaps  it  is,"  reluctantly  acknowledged  Mrs. 
Archer.  "But  you  don't  know  what  I  was  to  tiiem. 
They,"  her  voice  breaking,  "idolifed  me/* 

"And  you  don't  want  them  to  know  their  idol  has 
fallen,  is  that  it?  And  yet  that  is  the  fate  of  all  idols." 

"I  wish  to  spare  them,  if  I  can,  the  keen  disappoint- 


148  The  Success  of  Failure 

ment  and  utter  humiliation  which  the  knowledge  of  my 
living  would  bring  to  them."    ^  .  ... 

"You  are  ijot  treating  them  fairly,"  said  the  doctor 
rising.  "You  are  rendering  a  verdict  without  a  hear- 
ing of  both  side  of  the  case."  . 

'  If  so  "  said  she,  nervously  clasping  and  unclasping 
her  hands,  it  is  because  I  am  so  sure  of  the  verdict 
You  see,"  despairingly,  "the  circumstances  are  such 
tiiat  I  cannot  believe  any  other  possible.' 

"Why  not?"  demanded  the  doctor.   "Do  you  thmk 
that  love  is  such  a  miserable,  weak  and  puny  thmg  ti«t 
it  can  be  hedged  in  by  the  world's  fence  of  respectabU- 
fty?  And  arc  you  the  only  one,  starting  on  the  road 
of  a  mistaken  love,  who  has  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the 
voice  of  consequence  when  he  has  pleaded  to  be  heard 
and  regarded  with  blinded  eyes  the  presence  of  his 
twin-brother,  caution;  and  who,  today,  awakened  too 
late  to  the  inexorable  and  unpleasant  fact  that  conse- 
quence is  no  longer  to  be  considered  an  ally  .f  caution 
be  ignored,  but  an  unconquerable  and  stubborn  enemjs 
bemoan  the  deafness  and  blindness  of  yesterday?  And 
are  you  the  only  one  who  has  unfortunately  committed 
what  society  publicly  considers  the  unpardonable  sin, 
and  which  she  so  loudly  denounces ;  but  which  private- 
ly, she  so  often  condones  and  seeks  to  hide  and  tries  so 
hard  to  forget?  Are  you?" 


No." 


Mrs.  Archer  Becomes  Hannah  Thompson  149 

"Then  write  to  your  parents  and  tell  them  the  truth." 

"Oh,  no!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Archer,  shrinking  ptte- 
ously  down  in  her  chair,  "that  I  cannot  do." 

•  You  are  willing,  then,  to  go  further  and  let  con- 
sequence make  a  coward  of  you?"  queried  the  doctor. 
'  You  are  very  foolish,  for  I  can  assure  you  there  is  no 
safety  in  the  obscurity  of  a  lie." 

"I  cannot  help  it,"  replied  she  despairingly,  I  am 
afraid !  I  am  afraid !" 

•And  of  what  are  you  afraid?"  aiked  he  scomfuUy, 
beginning  to  pace  up  and  down  the  room.  "The  judg- 
ment of  a  sinful  man  and  woman,  parents  though  they 
be?  It  is  imperfection  passing  judgment  upon  imper- 
fection. It  is  sin  calhng  to  sin  in  terms  of  censure  or 
praise.  Can  t  you  see  that  aU  such  judgment  is  limited, 
and  for  that  reason  cannot  in  its  nature  be  true,  but  is 
bound  to  err?  That  is,  all  human  judgment  is  never 
errorless  and  should,  therefore,  never  be  passed  by  the 
human  family  upon  its  individual  members,— and  that 
the  rising  or  falling  of  man  is  wholly  dependent  upon 
the  judgment  he  passes  upon  his  individual  self,  and 
with  him  at»des  the  consequence  of  a  true  or  false 
verdict. 

As  the  doctor  was  speaking,  Mrs.  Archer'i  face  tost 
somewhat  its  look  of  patiietk  hopdessness,  and  Aere 
came  into  it  one  of  astontiimient  and  not  a  little  alarm 
as  her  big  eyes  in  wide  open  anaiement  followed  him 


»50 


The  Success  of  Failure 


as  he  walked  toward  the  window.  When  he  had 
finidttd,  however,  and  come  back  and  stood  in  from 
of  her,  an  expression  of  understanding  had  taken  pos- 
session and,  smiling  sadly,  she  nodded  comprehendingly 
up  at  him  and  said : 

"You  are  right,  doctor,  and  I  am  ymmg.  I  will 
write  to  my  parents  tonight." 

"Good !"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  his  grave  face  light- 
ening up  with  a  smile  she  had  never  before  seen  it  wear. 
"Bathe  your  face  and  put  your  cap  on,"  continued  he, 
taking  her  hands  and  nusmg  h«-  to  her  feet,  "and  get 
ready  for  work,  for  the  correspondence,"  waving  his 
hand  toward  a  pile  of  unopened  letters  and  papers  lying 
upon  his  desk,  "is  unusually  large." 

The  doctor  sat  down  at  his  desk  and  Mrs.  Archer, 
her  mind  ineiquressibly  relieved,  hurried  in  to  her  office 
and  prepared  Iwrielf  and  desk  for  work.  Never  before 
in  the  past  years  of  her  life  had  she  felt  so  light- 
hearted,  so  absolutely  free.  The  words  of  the  doctor 
as  he  retraced  his  steps  from  the  window  remained 
with  her.  What  a  relief  it  was  to  know  the  mdy  cm- 
domiation  she  had  really  to  fear  was  her  own ;  that  she 
alone  was  her  judge,  and  that  her  standing  or  falling 
was  determined  by  that  judgment.  All  that  others 
might  say  or  do  could  not  make  one  hair  black  or 
white,  could  not  diai^  the  real  Hannah  Thompscm 
one  iota ;  the  resprasiUlity  was  hers  and  could  not  be 


Mrs.  Archer  Becomes  Hannah  Thompson  151 

iwiored.  and  whether  she  would  or  no.  she  would,  at 
^  time  or  other,  be  forced  out  into  the  open  to 
render  a  verdict  for  or  against  herself .  ^ 
While  these  thoughts  were  occupying  Mrs.  Archer  s 
mind,  the  doctor  was  busily  engaged  in  Ae  examination 
of  his  mail,  marking  the  mort  hnportairt  communica- 
tions for  reply  and  leaving  the  others  for  some  time 
later  in  the  day.  Then  he  took  his  hat  and  coat  from 
the  rack  and,  throwing  the  latter  over  his  arm  «^ 
holding  the  former  in  his  hand,  he  walked  mto  Mrs. 

Archer's  office,  and  said: 
"Before  attending  to  the  mail  get  Aat  letter  off  to 

your  parents." 

"I  will,"  she  replied. 

"And  your  name?"  he  queried. 

"Will  be  Hannah  Thompson,"  she  answered. 

"I  am  glad  that  is  your  decision,"  said  he  wifli  aa 

approving  smile.  ,      a  t* 

"WeU,"  putting  on  his  coat,  "I  must  be^  off.  It 
Thompson  comes  in,  please  ask  him  to  wait." 
"I  will,"  said  she,  and  the  doctor  hurried  out. 
She  waited  until  she  heard  the  street-door  close  be- 
hind him,  and  then  took  a  sheet  of  paper  fran  a  drawer 
and  inserted  it  into  the  typewriter  and  unhesitatingly 
began  to  write  Ae  letter  to  her  father  and  mother.  It 

read: 


153 


Ths  Success  of  Failure 


40  Oiborne  Avcaitc,  Littlttown. 

Dear  Father  and  Mother: 

This  letter,  I  know,  will  come  to  you  as  a  great  surprise 
and  terrible  shock,  believing,  as  you  must  now  do,  that  I 
have  long  ceased  to  be  numbered  among  the  living  in  the 
world.  My  disappearance  from  home  and  my  silence 
during  the  past  six  years  1  shall  not  attempt  to  explain  in 
this  letter;  it  would  take  too  long  and  cause  you  suffering. 
Suffice  to  say  I  thought  it  best.  Conditions  have  arisen, 
however,  which  make  it  impossible  for  me  to  wish  to  keep 
you  a  moment  longer  in  ignorance  of  my  whereabouts, 
and  write  to  ask  you  to  come  and  see  me  as  soon  as 
possible,  when  I  will  tell  you  the  storv  of  those  sad,  yet 
profitable,  years.  Lovingly  your  dattipter, 

Hakkah. 

When  the  letter  was  finished  and  placed  in  an  en- 
velope, sealed  and  stamped,  and  addressed  to  Mrs. 

Franklin  Thompson,  Dawson.  N.  Y.,  she  arose  and 
took  off  her  cap  and,  taking  her  long,  black  coat  from 
a  nail  at  the  back  of  the  door,  put  it  on  and  went  out 
and  dropped  tiie  letter  in  the  mail-box  a  few  doors  from 
the  house. 


CHAPTER  XII 


FR/iNK'S  IHMSFOSITION  AND  A  TELEPHONE  CALL  FKOX 

MRS.  GORDON 

««||AVE  you  been  wasting  long?"  inquired  the  doctor, 
H  who  had  returned  from  maldi^  hii  momiiig 

calls  upon  his  patients. 

"About  half-an-hour,  I  guess,"  replied  Frank  from 
his  chair  by  the  window. 

"Oh,  that  isn't  very  long,"  said  the  doctor,  hanging 
up  his  coat  and  hat. 

"No,"  agreed  Frank.  "I  haven't  noticed  the  time, 
for  I  have  been  so  interested  in  observing  the  faces  of 
the  men  and  women  who  have  passed  here.  It  seems 
strange,  too,  for  I  never  paid  mudi  attention  to  peof^e 
before,  nor  noticed  closely  the  faces  of  those  I  met." 

"Never  took  the  time,  I  suppose,"  said  the  doctor, 
stretching  himself  out  upon  the  couch. 

"No,  it  wasn't  that ;  it  was  more  a  matter  of  indiffer- 
ence, I  think,"  replied  Frank,  rising  and  leaving  the 
window  and  seating  himself  'm  a  chair  nearer  tlie 
doctor. 

"And  wh^t  .aakes  the  difference,  now?" 

153 


154  Tk4  Sue(*ss  of  FaUmn 


"I  don't  know,  unJtM  it » the  work  I'm  engafed  iB." 

rqplied  Frank  smiling. 

"I  see,"  =aid  tlie  doctor  laughing,  "every  face  means 
a  prospective  patient.  What  success  have  you  aad«  so 
far?" 

"Not  any.  All  tiwie  I  htve  tfekm  to  mukt  i^ 

are  perf  t  tly  wrll  and  have  no  need  of  a  phvsician." 

"But  what  about  yourself,  Fmdc?"  uk^  the  doctor 
earnestly. 

"Well,"  said  Fratdc,  hanging  hit  head  sheepishly, 
"my  pursuit  for  patiento  has  ande  mt  aanure  tliat  I  am 
not  altogether  well  and  have  quite  a  few  disorders." 

"Tndeed!"  exclain;'  1  the  lector.  "What  are  the 
symptoms?  How  do  ihey  affect  you?" 

"Well,  I  can't  say,"  replkd  Fnaak,  speaking  slowly, 
"tiiat  tfae  synqytoow  aa«  m>  auulKdr  latllH^  asqr  be  ht- 
are  so  prevjUent.  Nevertibdess,  Aey  are 
none  Ifce  less  revolutionary." 

"You  mean,"  queried  me  doctor,  "they  defy  all 
remedial  agents  ?" 

"I  don't  know  as  I  should  put  it  that  way."  repied 
Frank.  "Perhaps  the  right  remedy  has  not  hem  ap> 
plied." 

"Can  you  think  of  any  to  suggest?* 
"No,  I  don't  know  as  I  can." 
"And  you  want  me  to  prescribe  a  remedy,  is  that  kf" 
adced  the  <k>ctor  wilit  a  qwaiad  loak. 


Frtmk't  Inimiosuum  wd  a  leUphotu  Coil  155 

"If  ym  can  ^«er&c  tlie  ri^  one,  I    rtainly  do." 

"hi  #K  S€e«wg  oi  fXKtieatf,  you  will  fir  1  it  ourself. 
I  ca.  presi  Ik  u  ^  oth.  r.  To  know  you  are  ick  is  a 
great  .tep  tow  rd  ueconiing  well,  but  to  be  ignorant  of 
sickness  is  jj  LOur;  (teath." 

"Oh,  T  doB  t  «^  te  Iww  the  impre^^ion.'  said 
I'rank.     ^hmg.  "feat  I  am  v«ry       I  just  feel  kind 

uf  out  I  .  -t? 

Oh  is  Jat  -  said  c  doctor,  rising  in  ,*onsc 
tc  iie'ring  fth.     ^  -^Well.  jttst  c  -^ue 

in  vow  fwr-^oii  f 

lalk),  id  he.  m  le  rea.  d  the  tdephoac  and 
hd.  then      er^     lis  ear,  "who  sthis?" 

MS  '    njhr  said  the  voice  ot  Mrs.  Gordon.  "Is 

Air&  Ai     r  Aerc?" 

"So,"  reptied  ^  doctor,  "she  left  this  r  )rrmg. 
1^  Tt^ompsoa  i»  here,  thoyi^  Wotiki  like  to 
speak     her?"  ^ 

T        vas  no  «swer  for  several  stamA  »» 
d       .augh    iM»r<fiy  at  what  he  imagmet  be 
h    ^'»dfc-«nfitti«.  Then,raA«^imdediE  she 
,ati    Y-e-s.  I  guess  so." 

iss  -^hompson,"  called  the  doctor,  "Mrs.  Gordon 
ha.  callea  up  and  would  like  to  speak  to  you." 

"Ill  be  ri^t  Acre,  doctor,"  responded  Mrs.  Ardier, 
or  hMoak  Ihompson,  a       shall  now  begin  t-  call 
>er.  ^  rt»ng  from  her  desk  she  came  hurriedly  to  the 


The  Success  of  Failure 


telephone  and  took  the  receiver  from  the  doctor's  hand. 
And  he,  instead  of  going  back  to  the  couch,  as  she  ex- 
pected he  would  do,  stood  quietly  beside  her  to  catch 
the  words  of  his  sister  as  they  came  over  the  wire. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  asked  she  imperatively. 
"And  why  did  you  not  telephone  me  as  you  agreed?" 

"It  means,"  replied  Hannah,  "that  your  brother  has 
shown  me  the  folly  of  such  a  course  and  induced  me 
to  forsake  it." 

"I  see,"  reified  Mrs.  Gordcm  sarcastically,  "and  you, 
now,  of  course,  have  no  intention  of  leaving  his  em- 
ploy. Well,  I  shall  do  what  I  said  I  would,  'write  to 
your  parents.'  " 

"That  will  not  be  necessary,"  replied  Hannah 
triumphantly,  "for  I  have  abeady  written  to  them." 

"Even  so,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon  angrily,  "can't  you  see 
that,  although  it  may  mean  your  salvation,  your  pres- 
ence in  my  brother's  office  can  only  prove  ruinous  to 
his  reputation  and  practice?  Surely  you  cannot  desire 
either?" 

Before  Hannah  could  reply,  the  receiver  was  taken 
from  her  hand  and  the  doctor,  motioning  her  to  one 
side,  took  up  the  conversation  with  his  sister,  and 
Hannah,  giad  to  escape,  went  bade  to  ha  office. 

"This  is  a  question  which  I  must  answer,  Margaret," 
said  the  doctor  emphatically,  "for  it  is  one  with  which 
Miss  Thompson  has  nothing  to  do,  she  being  in  no  way 


Frank's  Indisposition  and  a  TtUfkone  Colt  157 

responsible  for  my  reputation  or  practice;  I,  alone,  am 
answerable  for  their  indestructibility." 

"Indeed."  retorted  Mrs.  Gordon  sneeringiy.  Then  I 
should  think  yon  would  take  some  better  means  of 
preserving  them  than  that  of  retaining  a  woman  of 
qaestionable  character  in  your  office,— no  matter  in 
what  capacity.  If  you  persist  in  doing  so,  I  warn  you 
that  I  shall  consider  all  relationriiip  betiveen  us  at  an 
end,  and  yon  will  cease  to  be  my  brother  and  I  your 
sister.  The  cause  of  the  outcast  you  have  made  yours ; 
therefore,  the  conditions  which  govern  the  Ufe  of  the 
outcast  must  be  yours  also,— which  is  to  be  pitied  but 
never  loved,  to  be  suffered  but  never  sanctioned,  to  be 
numbered,  forever  and  always,  as  she  is,  among  the 
world's  undesirables." 

"I  can  stand  it,  if  you  can,"  replied  the  doctor,  his 
face  darkening.  "However,  I  am  afraid  my  loss  will 
hardly  be  your  gain.  That  you  may  thrust  me  out,  is 
true  ;  but  who  can  sty  what  day  shall  not  witness  your 
departure  from  the  city  of  comfort  and  ease  for  the 
valley  of  k»elin«ss;  only,  in  due  time,  to  be  driven 
therefrom,  by  its  gray  skies,  its  mournful  surroundings 
and  the  low-moaning  chant  of  its  inhabitants,  to  the 
plains  of  despair,  whose  ever-extending,  terrifying  dis- 
tances compel  you,  later  on,  to  flee  then  for  the  moun- 
tain of  impossibility,  from  which,  in  painful  perplexity. 


158 


The  Success  of  FaSmrt 


you  turn  and  arrive  at  last  in  the  wilderneu  of  no-wi^- 

out." 

"StuflF  and  nonsense  r  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gordon  im- 
patiently. "If  you  are  not  very  carefnl,  yon  will  to 

fulfill  your  own  prediction." 

"We  shall  see,"  replied  the  doctor. 

"So  we  shall,"  returned  she  sharply.  "But  surely, 
Bob,"  pleadingly,  "there  are  plenty  of  nurses  of  good 
diaracter  and  with  blameless  pasts  whose  services  yoo 
could  secure  and  who  would  be  as  capable  as  Hann-Ji 
Thompsen.  Why,  therefore,  do  you  persist  in  keefHOff 
her?" 

"Because  I  am  a  physician/'  replied  the  doctor  de- 
cisively, "and  they  that  are  whole  need  not  a 

physician.' " 

An  angry  click  from  the  other  end  of  the  wire  was 
the  only  response  the  doctor  received.  Sighing,  he 
placed  the  receiver  back  on  teliook  and  tnmed  slowly 
from  the  telephone,  saying  to  himself  as  he  did  ao» 
"Poor  Margaret,  I  wonder  how  long  it  will  be  before 
the  truth  of  the  words,  the  sin  of  omission  oft-times 
makes  tiie  sin  of  commission  possible,  penetrates 
through  that  eonventkmal  shell  of  yours."  Then  step- 
ping over  to  where  Frank  sat,  a  silent  and  amaxed 
listener,  not  dreaming  of  the  relationship  that  existed 
between  him  and  Hannah  and  which  later  was  to  be 
revealed,  he  said : 


Frank's  IndispositUm  tmd  a  TtUfhone  CaU  159 

"That  would  be  a  good  patient  for  you  to  seek, 
Frank.  We  will  discuss  it  further,"  smiling  gravely  at 
the  look  of  dismay  that  o'erspread  Faulk's  face,  "down- 
stairs at  the  taUe,  for  yott,  of  omrse,  are  goo^  to  stay 
and  take  luncheon  with  me." 

"I  should  be  very  glad  to  do  the  latter,"  replied 
Frank,  rising  from  his  chair,  "but,"  throwing  his  hands 
impotently  out,  "to  attenq»t  the  former  is  too  great  an 
undertaking  iox  mtto  &ink  about." 

"We'll  decide  that  later,"  said  the  doctor,  walktiv 
over  to  the  wash-bowl  and  washing  his  hands. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


MXSw  TBOlf  FSON  VISITS  RBK  DAVCatlB 

**Tr  is  I,  Martha,"  said  Mrs.  Thompson  to  tlie  much 
1  surprised  and  frightened  negress  who  opened  the 
door  in  respmise  to  her  ring  of  the  bell,  and  who  now 
stood  petrified  in  the  doorway.  "It's  all  right.  Miss 
Hannah  expects  me,"  continued  she  assuringly,  gently 
pushing  the  door  open  and  stepping  into  the  hall,  "I 
received  a  letter  from  her  this  morning.   Is  she  in  ?" 

"N-o,— ni-a-a-m,— "  gaspeh  Martha,  leaning  weakly 
and  wide-eyed  against  the  wall. 

"Will  she  be  in  soon?" 

"No,— yes,— I— don't— know— "  stammered  Martha, 
not  knowing  just  what  her  mistress  would  have  her 
say. 

"WeU,  just  close  the  door,"  said  Mrs.  Thompson, 

smiling  understandingly,  "and  I  will  go  in  here  and 
wait,"  and  she  turned  toward  a  door  standing  partly 
open,  in  which  room  Ronald  lay  asleep  upon  a  couch. 

"Dat  room  am  oc'i'pied,  ma'am,  "  said  Martha,  now 
wonderfully  alert,  and  brushmg  quicldy  past  she  pulled 
the  4oof  to.  Not  for  worlds,  if  she  could  hdp  it,  ihoiikl 


Mrs.  Thompson  Visits  Her  Daughter  i6i 


Mr^.  Thompson  see  her  gramlson  without  his  nK^her's 
knowledge  and  consent 

"Oh,  I  see,  then  show  me  into  Miss  Hannah's  room.' 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Martha,  stepping  back  to  dose 
the  front-door  and  then  leading  the  way  to  a  room  at 
the  end  of  the  short  and  narrow  hall,  the  door  of  which 
stood  wide  open.   "Dis  am  Miss  Hannah's  room." 

"Thank  you,  Martha,"  said  Mrs.  Thompson,  enter- 
ing and  seating  herself  in  Ae  only  comfortaWe  chair 
the  room  contained.  "Do  you  tWnk  111  have  to  wait 

very  long?"  i 

"Don'  know,  ma'am,  can't  say,"  replied  the  non- 
committal Martha,  her  bent  form  and  grizzled  head  re- 
treating down  the  haB.  When  she  readied  Ae  door  of 

the  room  in  which  Ronald  slept,  she  stopped,  and  noise- 
lessly pushed  it  open.  Entering,  she  tiptoed  quietly 
over  to  the  couch  upon  which  he  was  lying  and  gently 
picked  up  a  little  hand  which  had  strayed  from  under 
the  covers  and  placed  it  back  agam.  Then  wt&  a  dole- 
ful shake  of  the  head  she  murmured  : 

"Its  don'  come  at  las'.  hone> .  as  I  s'pccted  it  would, 
and  der's  noddin'  to  do  'nit  to  let  yo'  mammy  know.— 
but  how  ?  Can't  u^e  dat  tel'phone  in  mammy's  room, 
cause  rfie  hear  all  I  say.  Noddin'  to  do  but  go  down- 
stairs," switchmg  off  her  apron  and  pulling  down  her 
sleeves.  "Reckon  yo'  wake  up  'fore  I  gets  back?'| 
queried  she  anxiously  as  she  reached  the  door.  "Don' 


l62 


The  Success  of  Failure 


do  dat.  honey,  nohow,  Marta'll  be  right  bMk»"  and  she 
drew  the  door  softly  to  behind  her. 

However,  Martha  had  hardly  reached  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  before  Ronald  began  to  sdr  and  was  soon  wide 
awake.  Stretdiitig  his  tittle  arms,  in  baby-fashkm,  om 
his  head,  he  laid  quietly  so  for  several  moments.  Then, 
lowering  them,  he  pushed  down  the  covers  and  sat  up 
and,  turning  sideways,  rolled  over  on  his  stomach  and 
slipped  to  the  floor,  where  be  stood  and  began  to  call, 
"Marta,  Marta,  I  awake!  I  awake,  Marta !"  Getting 
no  response,  the  little  fellow,  with  wondering  face,  felt 
his  way  with  his  baby-hands  to  the  door  and,  finding  the 
knob,  turned  it  and  pulled  the  door  open  and  went  into 
the  hall,  all  the  time  caUmg  plaintivdy,  ""Marta,  Marta, 
I  awake!  I  awake.  Marta."  But  there  came  no  answer 
from  Martha,  and  the  look  of  wonder  on  the  face  of  the 
child  became  one  of  fear,  for  never  before  in  his  short 
life  had  Martha  failed  to  hasten  to  him  or  to  answer 
his  first  odl.  Standii^  there,  he  vainly  listened  for 
half-a-minttte  for  a  sound  wl^  would  locate  to  lis 
baby-hearii^  Martha's  whereabouts,  and  then  slowly 
groped  his  way  through  the  hall  to  his  mother's  room, 
crving  pitifully  all  the  while,  "Marta,  Marta,  I  awake! 
I  awake,  Martar 

Whm  he  reached  the  doorway,  Mrs.  Thcmipsnn, 
ignorant  of  the  child's  lack  of  vision,  with  smiling  as- 
nuance  bedcooed  him  to  c<mie  to  her,  to  which  invita- 


Mrs.  Thompson  Visits  Her  Dmtgkttr  163 

tion,  to  her  surprise,  he  paid  not  the  least  attention,  al- 
though his  eyes  appeared  fixed  upon  her.  Then  she 
arose,  and  the  faint  socnd  of  her  swaying  garments  9s 
she  walked  toward  hin»,  seemed,  in  a  measure,  to  rea 
sure  the  now  thoroughly  frightened  child,  who  couiJ 
hear  but  see  nothing ;  fur  he  immediately  stopped  cry- 
ing and,  putting  out  his  baby-hands  in  a  self-protecting 
sort  of  way,  moved  slowly  toward  the  directum  of  the 
sound,  saying  in  a  reproachful,  enquiring  t<Mie: 

"Why  don't  you  speak  to  me,  Marta?" 

"I  am  not  Martha,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Thompson  sooth- 
ingly, not  wishing  to  startle  the  child  whose  question 
and  movemoits  now  oade  his  bihidnesa  evideflt. 
"Martha  has  gone  out,  I  tiihdc,  but  she  will  soon  be 
back,"  quickly  added  she,  very  gently  taking  one  of  tfic 
little  extended  hands  and  holding  it  within  her  own. 

"Where's  Marta  gone?"  asked  Ronald,  again  begin- 
nii^  to  cry  and  reluctantly  pennitth^  Mra.  Tbompaoa 
to  le^hki  back  to  her  chair. 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  Mrs.  Thompson,  sitting 
down  in  her  chair  and  lifting  Ronald  upon  her 
"Anyway,  you  are  not  going  to  cry,  are  you?  She  has 
gone,  I  ra^er  suspect,  to  tdqthooe." 

"Why  didn't  she  tel'phone  with  mother's  td'ltacr 
asked  Ronald,  sitting  straight  up  on  her 

"And  who  is  mother,  little  man?" 

"My  mother  is  Mrs.  Archer." 


l64 


Th$  Success  of  Failure 


"And  where  is  mother's  telephone?** 

"In  here ;  this  is  mother's  room." 

"You  are  mistaken,  I  think,  dear.  Martha  told  me 
this  was  my  daughter's  room,  and  her  name  is  Thomp- 
son." 

"Oh,  no!"  exclaimed  Ronald.  "I  'faid  you're  in  the 
w'ong  'partment.  Only  mother,  Marta  and  I  live 
here." 

The  arms  which  held  the  child  relaxed  and  a  troubled 
lode  came  into  the  eyes  that  were  now  closely  scanning 
the  little,  blind  face.  "Was  it  possible  t'aat  this,  then, 
was  the  explanation?"  she  anxiously  asked  herself. 
"Was  this  little,  blind  boy  sitting  on  her  lap  Hannah's 
child,  and  his  being  spoke  of  something  that  should 
not  have  been?"  She  had  not  even  dreamed  of  this. 
Every  other  misfonune  tliat  it  was  possible  to  imagine 
she  had  thousriit  of ;  but  this. — it  was  too  dreadful  

Very  gently  she  put  Ronald  down  upon  the  floor, 
where  he  stood  at  her  knee,  and  feeling  strangely  faint 
and  ill  leaned  back  in. her  chair.  "What  would  her 
father  say?"  She  dreaded  to  think  of  the  effect  the 
intelligence  would  have  upon  him.  and  the  duty  of 
imparting  it  sho  devoutly  wished  lay  with  someone 
other  than  herself.  Tru?,  this  same  thing  had  hap- 
pened heretofore  and  would  happen  again  to  other 
people's  daughters;  littt  tliat  it  should  have  befallen 
their  Hannah  was  inconceivable          But,  f>erhaps, 


Mrs.  Thompson  Visits  Her  Daughter  165 

after  all,  it  was  not  so  and  she  had  been  too  hasty  in 
arriving  at  a  conclusion.   She  would  wait. 

She  had  not  to  wait  very  long  for  the  confirmation 
of  her  fears ;  for  Ronald,  hearing  the  opening  of  the 
hall-door  accompanied  by  hurrying  footsteps,  called 
out,  as  he  moved  slowly  away  from  her  knee  toward 
the  door,  "Marta,  I'm  in  here  with  the  stwange  lady. 
Did  you  go  out  to  tel'phone  mother?" 

"What  made  yo'  t'ink  I  tel'phone,  yo'  little  ra'cal?" 
laughed  Martha,  mdiing  to  him  as  he  ttood  in  tiie 
doorway. 

"Lady  said  she  s'pected  so,"  replied  Ronald  as 
Martha  picked  him  up  in  her  arms  and  started  to  carry 
him  out  to  the  kitchen.  "Is  motiier's  tefphone  out  of 
order?" 

"Hush !"  whispered  Martha. 

"Why  must  I  ,"  but  the  rest  of  the  question  was 

lost  in  the  black  hand  which  gently  covered  his  mouth. 

An  hour  of  waiting  dapsed — an  hour  of  in^scrfta- 
ble  mental  agony  for  Mrs.  Thompson — before  Hannah 
threw  open  the  hall-door  and.  leaving  it  open,  rushed 
in.  At  the  sound  of  the  hurrying  steps,  Mrs.  Thomp- 
.<ion  rose  unsteadily  to  her  feet.  A  momentary  glance, 
that  was  all,  and  without  a  wcM-d  utUttd  by  ta^ber, 
mother  and  daughter  were  in  each  other's  arms.  There 
w  ere  no  tears,  no  cries,  no  heart-broken  sobs ;  naught 
but  an  overwhelming  silence.   At  last,  the  trembling 


166 


Thi  Success  of  FoUure 


of  her  mother's  body  recalled  Hannah's  power  of 
speech  and,  tenderly  unclasping  her  mother's  arms 
from  about  her  and  placing  her  gently  back  in  her 
dudr,  dienid: 

"Poor  mother,  this  UmM  has  been  a  terrible  diode 
to  you." 

At  these  words,  spoken  by  the  voice  of  her  daughter, 
a  voice  not  heard  by  her  for  so  many  years,  Mrs. 
Humqpson'f  tyes  ffied  wtdi  tears  aikl,  as  slu  omtmtted 
to  gan  speedilesdy  tqxm  the  laoe  ci  her  duld,  rm 
tinrq;arded  down  her  cheeks. 

Censure,  Hannah  could  have  borne ;  coldness  or  un- 
kind words  she  could  have  met  cabnly,  but  tears — ^that 
rain  of  tears — and  the  infinite,  knre  and  sorrow  ex- 
pressed  in  tiiose  tears,  were  too  nwich,  and  broke  dovm 
and  swept  away,  as  though  it  had  never  been  there,  the 
wall  of  human  error  which  she  had  permitted  to  sepa- 
rate her  from  her  mother  for  the  past  six  years.  Gone 
they  were,— with  a  great  sobbing  sigh  she  1^ 
down  upon  her  knees  at  the  skle  of  her  mother  and 
faiid  her  head  in  her  lap  nmdi  as  had  been  woitt  to 
do  when  a  child.  Soothingly,  the  mother's  hand  passed 
over  the  light-brown  hair,  and  in  its  touch  was  mani- 
fested that  wonderful,  but  indescribable  thing,  the  one- 
ness of  mother  and  child. 

At  lut  tht  soothing,  stroking  motion  ceased,  and  two 


Mrs.  Thompson  Fisits  Her  Daughter  167 

soft  hands  were  placed  under  lUmtk*»  dun  and  canted 

her  to  slowly  raise  her  head.  " 

"Why  did  you  not  come  and  make  known  your 
troubles  to  yomr  motfier,  my  child?"  arited  Mn. 
Thompwm.  looktef  oompairioiiatefy  down  Ib^ 

fill,  working  ft«e. 

"I  could  not  then,"  chokingly  replied  Hannah,  rising 
to  her  feet  and  feeling  in  her  coat  pocket  for  her  hand- 
kerchief, with  MA  ihe  wiped  Ibe  tears  item  her  iMe. 
"My  one  thought,  at  that  time,**  taldng  the  pins  out  of 
her  mother's  hat  and  laying  it  over  on  the  couch,  "was 
to  hide  myself  from  all  those  who  had  known  me  and 
I  had  known.  I  believed,  then,"  helping  her  mother  off 
with  her  coat  and  pla^ng  it  tmdar  the  h^  "my  di^ 
was  to  obliterate  n^raelf  and  thus  spare  you  and  father 
the  humiliating  sorrow  of  kaowii^  the  miierabte  nrif- 
take  I  had  made." 

Mrs.  Thompson  sighed  and  leaned  back  in  her  chair. 

"And  what  of  your  nmlfaer?*' ihe  aAed,  ai  Haaaah 
took  off  her  own  hat  and  coat  and  hung  them  up  on  a 
hook  in  the  wardrobe  which  stood  in  a  comer  of  the 
room.  "Did  you  think  it  possible  that  she  could  so 
completely  shut  you  out  of  her  heart?  And  idiat  right 
had  you  to  deny  me  ti»  prhrSege  <rf  iharing  and  bear- 
ing with  yon  Ae  comeyience  of  your  acts?" 

Hannah  moved  a  di^  nearer  her  mother's  and  tat 
down. 


i68  J  he  Success  of  Failure 

"I  coulvl  not,  then,  mother,  I  simfdy  cotild  not,"  r«- 
pHt'd  she.  putting  her  hand  up  and  taking  the  one  her 
mother  was  about  to  lay  upon  her  shoulder  and  holding 
it  firmly  between  her  own  in  her  lap.   "That  it  was 
wrong,  I  now  fuUy  realise ;  and  that  yoti  and  fiUher 
were  not  acquainted,  long  ago,  with  the  &et  tlttt  Davkl 
Haven  and  myself  had  determined  upon  entering  into 
a  trial  marriage,  I  shall  always  regret.   That  we  were 
b<rth  young,  may,  perhaps,  be  some  excuse,  I  do  not 
know,  for  wishing  to  take  an  untried  and  forbidden 
road  in  our  quest  for  happiness.  Because  what  we  had 
decided  upon  was  the  exceptional,  we  both  argued,  it 
need  not,  necessarily,  result  unhappily.    But,  unfor- 
tunately, it  did;  the  way  we  togk  was  too  broad  and 
we  lost  each  other.  And  it  was  toch  a  greedy  thor- 
oughfare,  mother ;  its  demands  were  so  heavy  that  they 
who  lingered  there  were  never  able  to  meet  its  bills. 
Your  youth,  never  more  to  be  regained,  you  left  there. 
Vour  good  name  it  swalk>wed  up,  and  you  searched  in 
v:iin  to  find  it.  It  wotsM  take  all  that  yon  posacned, 
and  then,  grinnii^,  leave  yon  standii^  h^deat  m& 
alone." 

"My  poor  Hannah,"  said  Mrs.  Thompson  con- 
soiingfy. 

"In  a  way,  yes,"  agreed  Hannah.  *'Btrt  it  did  not 
rob  me  of  all ;  I  started  in  time  to  hoBf  my  difid. 
Have  you  seen  him  ?"' 


J 


Mrs.  Thompson  Visits  Hit  Daughttr 

"Yes,  he  found  his  v/ay  in  here  when  he  (ailed  to 

find  Martha  upon  waking  up." 

"Dear  Httle  man,  it  was  the  first  time  she  ever  1^ 
him,  unless  it  wa»  witii  roe.  Good,  old  Martha,  but  for 
h«- 1  do  not  know  what  I  should  have  done.  From  the 
night  I  left  home,  when  she  followed  me,  and  in  order 
to  prevent  a  scene  at  the  depot  we  were  forced  to  take 
her  with  us,  she  has  served  me  faithfully  and  wclL** 

"Oh,  yes,"  sraUed  Mr*.  Thompion,  **there  never  waa 
any  doaht  in  my  mind  that  where  we  ihoidd  find  yon 
V   also  should  find  Martha." 

Hannah  smiled  and  got  up. 

"I  must  go  out  and  announce  myself  to  Ronald,"  she 
said,  "or  he  will  be  terribly  diaappotnted." 
"Yes,  do,  and  hriag  him  in  md  nitrodtwe  htra  to  hia 

grandmother." 

'  Perhaps  you  wo  ?!  "'ce  to  come  with  me,"  sug- 
gested Hannah. 

"No,  I  do  not  waiif  i  'n:i>le  Martha  neecOesily. 
She,  no  (touU,  is  prepa:  .'  ;  '  •  ^oheon." 

"Very  well,  I'll  be  right  back."  and  Hannah's  itep* 
quickened  as  she  passed  into  the  hall. 

Pretty  soon  she  came  back  carrying  Ronald,  and 
Mrs.  HKmqjMKMt  held  oa/t  h«r  amaa  for  Ae  chfid. 

"Rcmald,"  9aM  his  mother  i  am  going  to  present 
you  to  your  grandmother,  and  i  want  you  to  love  her 
as  much  as  you  do  mother." 


Tht  Success  of  FaSitn 


"What  is  sraiicliiiother,  mother?"  asked  Ronald  as 
Hannah  placed  him  in  Mrs.  Thompson's  arms. 
"Your  mother's  mother,  boney-boy." 
"Do  you  yuv  her,  mother?"  asked  he,  sitting  straight 

up  on  his  grandmother's  lap. 

"Why,  of  course,  little  man." 

"Then  I  yuv  her,"  said  Ronald,  getting  to  his  knees 
on  her  lap,  and  Mrs.  Thompson  felt  the  pressure  of  two 
littie  arms  about  her  neck  and  a  ctnrly-head  pressed 
close  to  her  own.  For  several  moments,  while  his 
mother  stood  silently  looking  on.  his  grandmother  held 
him  tightly  within  her  arms.  Then  Ronald,  bent  upon 
investigation,  threw  back  his  head  and  withdrew  his 
arms  from  aroimd  her  neck  and  began  to  pass  his  hands 
slowly  over  her  fmee. 

"You're  bootiful,  too,"  he  said  finally,  straightening 
out  his  legs  and  establishing  himself  more  comforti^ 
upon  her  lap. 

"You  think  so?"  inquired  Mrs.  Thompson,  into 
whose  eyes  the  tears  were  coming;  and  it  was  only  the 
prompt  interventkm  of  Hannah's  handinrchiel  \Htieh 
prevented  their  overflow.  With  a  downward,  warning 
of  her  head  in  the  direction  of  the  child,  his 
n»other  wiped  the  tears  away,  saying  brightly,  at  the 
same  time,  to  conceal  from  her  boy  her  own  and  her 
mother's  agitatk»,<— 


Mrs.  Thompson  Visits  Hsr  Dtmghter  171 


"Your  grandmother,  I  am  fure,  thanks  you  for  the 
compliment,  little  aon." 

"But  I  fink  you  are,  too,  mother." 

"Of  course,  darling."  laughed  Hannah,  "and  mother 
is  not  at  all  jealous.  She  is  perfectly  willing  to  share 
your  baby-heart  with  granAnoAer.** 

But  Ronald,  apparently,  waa  not  of  the  same  mind 
and  objected,  somewhat,  to  having  his  affections  tlnis 
dispensed  with;  for,  squirming  around,  he  tarned  his 
back  upon  his  grandmother  and,  stretching  his  little 
arms  upwards  to  where  he  believed  Wa  mother  alood, 
he  laid: 

"Come  and  take  me." 

'In  a  little  while,  darling."  said  Hannah,  falling 
down  upon  her  knees  on  the  rug  by  the  side  of  her 
mother  and  taking  her  boy's  hand  wftWn  her  own ;  Iwt 
mother  Ina  tomeSiing  dae  to  aay  to  her  little  man,  first. 
You  see,  dear,  grandmother  has  never  had  a  little  boy 
to  love  or  to  love  her,  and  it  is  a  long,  long  time  since 
she  had  a  little  girl.  "Mother  was  her  little  girl,  but  she 
giew  up  and  forgot  ahoitt  ft.  GrtwdmoUier  ^  not— 
and  now,  hecanae  you  bdeag  to  that  Uttle  girl,  she  loves 
you  and  not  only  gives  you  the  place  that  that  little 
girl  occupied,  but  has  made  a  brand-new  place  in  her 
heart  for  you.  You  and  I,  babykin,  must  live  to  be 
worthy  of  that  brand-new  place,  for  in  no  heart  hnt  a 
RKHNr's  are  we  iWe  to  find  ft.  Aad,  dnHiVt  vm^^ 


172 


The  Success  of  Failure 


wants  }  ou  to  know  when  you  are  loving  grandoM^hcr 
she  win  fee!  you  are  doubly  loving  her." 

"Ymi  mean."  said  Ronald  sTowly,  "if  I  yuv  g'and- 
mother,  I  }  uv  you  two  times." 

"Yes,  little  man,  that  is  just  what  mother  means." 

Just  at  that  moment  Martha  came  through  the  hall. 

"Ltmch  is  served,  ma'am."  she  said. 

"Very  well.  Martha."  replied  Homah.  "come  and  get 
Ronald  f  and  piclv'njr  up  her  boy  from  her  mote's 
lap  she  placed  him  in  Martha's  arms,  and,  as  At  car- 
ried him  out.  Mrs.  Thomp.son  rose  to  her  feet. 

"He  is  a  dear,  little  fellow,"  said  she,  "but  how  pa- 
thetical'v  sad  it  is  that  he  is  blind.** 

"It  is.  indeed,"  replied  her  daughter ;  "but."  musing- 
ly, "do  you  know,  sometimes  I  am  rather  glad  that  he 
is  blind  for.  consequently,  much  of  the  evU  of  the  world 
hte  will  escape." 

"That  is  true."  agreed  her  mote;  "but,  Iflcewise, 
how  many  of  its  beauties  he  must  forego." 

"Tliat  is  so.  of  course."  said  her  daughter  with  a 
sigh.  •However.  1  try  to  find  consolation  in  the  thought 
that  what  he  has  not  seen  he  cannot  miss." 

"Is  his  bNndness,  thes.  so  permaneMly  hopdewr 

"Doctor  Ross  does  not  think  s^i." 

"I  am  glad  to  h^ar  that.   Who  is  Doctor  Ross?" 

"A  wonderful  man  and  an  excellent  physician.   I  am 
«a^*W''ed  by  hhn  as  eorrtqxMident  and  office-nurse. " 


Mrs.  Thompson  Visits  H*r  Daughter  173 

"That  is  strange,  I  have  never  heard  of  him." 

"1  thought  you  might  have  heard  something  aboot 
Hon  kom  Mrs.  George  Leigh,  for  he  is  her  physician." 

"TktB  you  know  of  Ge<M^e's  marriage,"  said  Mrs. 
Thompson,  a  note  of  sympathy  in  her  voice  as  she 
followed  her  daughter  into  the  hall.  "He  married 
less  than  two  years  ago  your  old  friend  and  school- 
mate, Elizabeth  Sand. 

"I  know  it.  Indeed,  my  communicating  w  ith  \  uu 
and  father  was  due  indirectly  to  a  visit  she  paid  to  the 
doctor's  office  one  morning.  I  will  tell  you  all  about 
it  after  we  have  had  luncheon." 

They  entered  the  dining-room  where  tliey  found 
Rranld  seated  in  his  high-chair  at  the  table.  Martha, 
just  a  few  moments  before,  had  placed  in  front  of  him 
a  bowl  partly  filled  with  chicken  soup,  which,  hungry 
hough  he  was,  he  made  no  attempt  to  eat,  but  sat 
patiently  waiting  fw  his  mother  and  tfic  "rtwange 
!ady,"  as  he  persisted  in  caUii^r  his  grandmother  when 
e  sjjoke  of  her  to  Martha,  to  come  in  and  sit  down 
at  the  table.  He  cla^d  his  tiny  hands  as  they  came 
into  the  room. 

'*Y<m  may  begin  now,  darling,  here  is  your  spoon," 
aid  his  motl^,  pidcing  up  a  spoon  which  lay  itt  tiw- 
side  of  his  bowl  and  putting  it  in  his  hand.   "You  may 
^it  here,  mother,"  continued  she,  drawing  out  a  chair 
irom  one  side  of  the  table,  "and,"  by  a  movement  of. 


174 


The  Smcceu  of  Fmhtre 


her  hand  indicating  a  chair  at  the  (^^site  side,  "I 
win  tit  over  Hurt.'* 

In  less  th«i  lalf  an  hoar  ihty  hmd  §aUmi  fitting 
their  luncheon,  and  Mrs.  Thompson  was  back  aga» 
in  tile  little  room  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  Hannah  hav- 
ing stopped  outside  for  a  few  minutes  to  superintend 
ibt  drtwiag  of  Rondd,  iR^eni  Mstfia  was  going  to 
take  out  for  a  short  walk,  Im  roother  ftiii^im,  ^  wne 
to  so  dispose  of  him  while  she  talked  with  h«*  mother. 

Mrs.  Thompson  surveyed  the  little  room  with  its 
meagre  furnishings,  and  sadly  contrasted  it  with  one 
haadsoHiely  furnished  now  tmorai^d  at  Dawson — 
Hannah's  room.  I  ler  heart  ached  for  this  g^l  of  hert, 
antl  she  lonj,a-d  to  see  her  once  more  in  possession  of 
her  old  room  with  its  attendant  luxuries;  and  she 
wbhed  it  were  ix)ssible  to  take  Hannah,  with  Ronald 
and  MMtiia,  home  wiA  her  that  night.  But  the  could 
not.  Her  father  must  firrt  be  toW  the  trudi,  and  tiien 
decide.  That  he  would  not  close  the  door  of  his  home 
against  his  child,  she  felt  certain ;  and  that  for  her  it 

would  always  stand  open.  But  the  child         To  him, 

die  «M  afraid,  the  6oor  woold  remain  fcHwer  shut, 
and  hit  mother,  the  knew,  and  was  giad  to  know,  wat 
too  much  of  a  woman  to  accept  for  herself  that  which 
her  child  could  not  have.  "Poor,  innocent,  little,  blind 
b^y,"  thought  she.  "how  cruel  it  was  that  he  should 
l»vc  t»  adfer  die       eontequenoet  of  die  acts  of 


Mrs.  Thompson  Visits  Hit  Domghttr  175 

others,  and  Uiat  upon  his  baby-head  and  frail  shoulders 
should  fall  the  effects  of  tiieir  wcoaf[-iKXO%^ 

Hannah's  sdvancing  footsteps  in  tfie  hall  pot  a  stop 
to  these  gloomy  thoughts,  and  Mrs.  Thompaon  greeted 
the  entrance  of  her  daughter  with  a  imile. 

"They  have  gone?"  queried  she. 

"Yes,  and  if  I  am  to  finish  my  story  before  they  get 
back,  I  must  begin  right  tway,"  replied  Vbmah, 
drawing  a  chair  forward  «Bd  ntting  down  near  her 
mother. 

"Is  it  necessary,  my  child?"  asked  Mrs.  Thompson, 
laying  her  hand  affectionately  upon  her  danghter't 
shoulder.  "Would  it  not  be  better  to  Icsve  tbe  di»- 
tressing  happenings  of  the  past  six  years  where  they 
belong — away  back  there  ?  Surely  they  have  no  place 
in  the  present  and  can  have  none  in  the  future,  and 
the  telling  really  cannot  bemfit  ehfaor  <A  t»,  now, 
serving  <xcAy  to  add  to  your  enAarraaament  ai^  pam. 
l  et  us,  then,  tnmowbiidatspoiitiwmMd  leave  Hiem 
behind." 

"I  see  you  agree  with  Doctor  Ross.  It  is  very  good 
of  yon  to  iSa&Bk  lo  about  it,  modber,  bttt  yAaH  abeirt 
father?" 

"I  shall  have  to  tell  him  what  X  know,  of  course," 
replied  Mrs.  Thompson,  a  shadow  for  the  moment 
passing  over  her  face,  "and  what  the  outcome  may  be 
I  caniKJt  say.  Iftnvever,  I  wffl  write  you  aboirt  ^ba^ 


The  Success  of  Failure 


tomorrow  and,  at  the  same  titiie,  enclose  a  check  to 
cover  your  expenses  here." 
"That  is  very  kind  of  you." 

"Now  tell  me  something  of  your  work,  if  you  are 
happy  in  it  and  of  this  Doctor  Ross  by  whom  you  are 
employed."  said  Mrs.  Thompson,  looking  at  her  watch. 
"You  won't  have  a  great  deal  of  time  for  I  must  leave 
on  the  three-thirty  train." 

This,  to  Hannah,  was  a  particularly  asreeahle  tadc, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  she  was  relating,  with  no 
little  degree  of  interest  expressed  in  face  and  voice, 
the  many  pleasing  features  of  her  work ;  and  speaking 
m  eloquent  praise  of  the  man  who  had  made  tiiat 
work  possible — the  Great  Worker,  her  employer.  So 
tndy  happy  did  she  appear  as  she  continued  to  talk, 
that  her  mother,  whose  heart  had  ached  at  the  thought 
of  leaving  her  and  Ronald  in  what  she  termed  "the 
depressing  loneliness  of  a  large  city,"  became  more  and 
more  reconciled  with  the  situation ;  and  when,  an  hour 
later,  slie  bade  them  goodby  at  the  station,  it  was 
with  a  mind  assured  tiiat  for  the  present,  at  least,  all 
Mras  well  with  her  Hannah. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  TALK  WITH  DOROTHY  AND  THE  SELECTION  OF  ROADS 


THE  lottd  ringing  of  the  tdephone-beU  greeted 
Hannah  when  she  opened  the  office-door  die 

morning  after  her  mother's  visit.  Stepping  quickly 
over  to  the  telephone,  she  took  down  the  receiver  and 
held  it  to  her  ear,  and  a  voice  in  response  to  her 
gentle,  ♦•Hello.'*  sdd: 

"Good-morning,  Mrs.  Archer ;  this  is  Miss  Richard> 
son.   Has  the  doctor  arrived  ?" 

"Oh,  good-morning,  Miss  Richardson,"  returned 
Hannah  jdeasantly.  "No,  the  doctor  has  not  come  in. 
I  expect  him  any  moment,  though.  Can  I  do  anything 
for  you  ?" 

"VV'^ell,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Dorothy  a  trifle  slowly 
"perhaps  you  can;  my  message  in  a  way  concerns 
you.  Last  night,  while  speaking  to  Mr.  Thompson  on 
his  way  out,  he  tcAd  me  yoa  were  not  in  tiie  oflke  all 
of  yesterday  afternoon;  and,  although  he  waited  all 
tliat  time  for  the  doctor  to  come  in.  he.  too,  failed  to 
put  in  an  appearance,  and  he  had  to  leave  without  see- 
ing him.  Foolishly,  I  then  began  to  worry  and  won- 
dered if  everything  was  as  it  shoold  be  over  there.** 

177 


178 


The  Smccw  of  FaUmrt 


"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Hannah,  laugiiing  happily,  "every- 
thing is  all  right." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  responded  Dorothy  heartily. 
"But  if  it  ever  riiould  not  be,  renwmber  my  'home- 
Uvii^  place'  will  always  be  open  to  you  and  Ronald." 

"You  are  very  kind,  1  shall  remember  that,"  said 
Hannah,  and  just  at  that  moment  Doctor  Ross  pushed 
the  door  apa\  and  walked  into  the  room,  whkh  caused 
her  to  add,  "Oh,  here  is  the  doctor,  now,  wouldn't 
you  like  to  speak  to  him  ?' 

"Whv,  yes,  you  might  let  me  say  good-morning  to 
him." 

"Doctor,"  said  Hannah,  turning  her  head  in  his  di- 
rection and  smiling,  "Miss  Richardson  is  on  tiw  tele- 
I^one  and  would  like  to  speak  t(i  you." 

"Is  that  so?"  ffplifd  the  doctor,  much  pleased,  strid- 
ing over  to  the  telephone  and  taking  the  receiver  out 
of  her  hand. 

"Good-morning,  Dorothy,"  said  he,  and  Hamuh 

hurried  into  her  office  and  closed  the  door. 

"Good-nioriung.  Bob,"  came  Dorothy's  voice  from 
the  other  end  of  the  wire.  "How  is  everything  over 
there?  I  have  been  hearing  bad  news  of  your  office. 
Is  Mrs,  Archer  to  reimun  with  you?" 
t  "Not  Mrs.  Arciifr."  replied  the  doctor  with  a  low 
laugh,  "!>ut  a  young  woman  by  the  name  of  Miss  Han- 
nah Thompson  is." 


A  Talk  wiik  Doroiky 


"I  see,"  and  the  tone  of  her  voice  conveyed  more  to 
the  doctor  than  Dorothy  intended. 
"No  yon  don't,  but  you  will  tome  day/'  repU«|  he 

leasingly. 
"Is  that  so?"  retorted  she. 

'That  is  just  so,"  laughed  he.    "However,  don't 
despair,  for  with  time  all  things  are  accomplished." 
"Evoi  the  perfection  of  me?" 
"Ves,  the  perfectkm  of  you." 
'Bosh!" 

"No  bosh  about  it,  I  assure  you,  Dorothy.  It  it  a 
certaim  and  assured  fact" 
"I  am  glad  you  feel  so  positive  about  k.** 

"And  you  don't?" 
"No,  I  wish  I  did." 

"Mow  is  that?  Isn't  the  'home-liviqg  place'  pro- 
gressing satisfactorily?" 

"WeU,"  rdttctantiy  replied  Dorothy,  «*I  am  bcKin- 
ning  to  have  difficulties." 

"I  sec  "  said  the  doctor  sympathetically,  "it  is  not 
proving  the  success  you  hoped  for.  That  is  too  bad, 
Dorothy.  Can  I  be  of  any  assistance  V* 

"I  dont  kaow,  periiH*  you  nn.  Stq^iosing  you 
call  in  on  your  way  back  from  die  hospital  diis  after- 
noon. There  are  quite  a  few  Uungs  I  want  to  taOc 
over  with  you." 

"I  caa't  this  aftermwn,  Dorothy,"  said  the  doctor 


iSo  The  Succiu  of  Fcatwn 


ffgretfully,  "for  I  have  an  engagement  with  T'  omp- 
son.  But  I  can  call  in  ind  see  you  tomorrow  morning, 

if  that  will  do." 
"Yef,  that  win  tait  me  very  nicely." 
«'Very  wdl,  1*0  be  in  loaic  tiiiw  tetwcoi  dmfi  aad 

twelve." 
"Thank  you,  Bob." 

"Not  at  all,  Dorothy.  It  is  always  my  delight  ana 
plcMore,  as  you  know,  to  »erve  you." 

"It  it  very  good  of  you,  Bob ;  and  I  won't  keep  you 
any  k»ger  for  I  know  just  how  busy  you  always  are. 
Goodby." 

"Goodby,  Dorothy,"  returned  the  doctor,  and  the 
smite  that  ptoyed  around  his  lips  was  infinitely  tender 
as  he  hung  tip  the  receiver  on  its  hook  and  turned 
from  the  instrument. 

Before  sitting  down  at  his  desk  to  examine  his  mail, 
he  walked  to  the  door  of  Hamiah's  oftce  and  knocked 
gently,  and  in  response  to  her  {feasant,  "Come  m," 
tamed  the  knob  and  entered  the  room. 

"Well,"  said  he,  smiling  in  a  grave,  mischievous 
fashion  at  Hannah,  who  was  seated  in  front  of  her 
desk,  "I  see  you  are  still  alive.  The  ordeal  of  yester- 
day afternoon,  which  yon  dreaded  to,  could  not  have 
proven  such  a  terrible  thing,  after  all." 

"Oh.  no,"  said  Hannah,  her  face  alight,  "it  proved 
to  be  no  ordeal  at  all.  Do  you  know,  although  I  have 


A  Talk  with  Dorothy 


i8i 


a  child  cf  my  own,  I  ne^  er  before  realized  how  won- 
derfully wonderful  is  the  love  of  a  mother  for  her 

child." 

"Yes."  replied  the  doctor,  sitting  down  in  a  diair 
opposite  Hann^,  ''it  is  woadariiri  lor  k»  rare  tnud- 
fishness.  And  yet,"  musingly,  "in  its  unselfishness  it 
is  selfish.  The  love  a  mother  bears  for  her  child  is 
the  love  for  a  reproduced  self ;  in  it  she  sees  the  con- 
tinuing of  that  self.  And  her  love,  in  q^te  of  its 
boasted  dq>di  and  breadtii  ai^  inexltttntible  Hore,  it 
limited ;  and  the  child  is  not  very  old  before  he  becomes 
sadly  aware  of  its  limitations.  To  her  only  is  given 
the  provision  of  the  physical  needs,  and  just  so  far  and 
no  farther  is  she  able  to  travel  the  journey  of  life 
with  him.  The  way  of  the  spirit,  he  must  travel  alone, 
picking  from  its  roadside  those  fruits  needed  to  satisfy 
that  hunger.  To  meet  every  awakened  desire  of  the 
soul,  means  the  pushing  onward  and  upward  until 
their  source  is  found." 

"Surdy,**  exdaimed  Hannah  in  surprise,  "you  don't 
mean  me  to  conclude  that  mothers  are  not  anxwos  to 
have  tfidr  dtfiAidi  (row  tip  to  ba  fpood  men  and 
women  V* 

"Their  anxiety  goes  for  naught,  if  they  know  not 
the  road  to  Good.  Many  and  many  are  the  roads 
called  by  that  name  " 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"And  teiminate,  I  suppose  you  are  going  to  say," 
interrupted  Hannah,  "in  the  broad  and  well-known 
thoroughfare  of  Bad?" 

The  doctor  nodded. 

"What  assurance,  then,"  anxiously  asked  Hannah, 
''has  a  mother  that  she  has  selected  from  these  many 

roads  the  way  to  Good,  when  there  are  so  many  con- 
flicting opinions  of  what  is  good  and  what  is  bad  ?" 

"by  their  fruits,  there  is  no  other  way,"  quietly  re- 
plied the  doctor.  "It  is  not  d'iicult,"  he  went  on,  "to 
avoid  taking  some  of  ihese  roads ;  nor  is  it  necessary 
for  one  to  traverse  them  to  know  the  fruits  which 
grow  therein,  for  their  decadent  effects  are  voicelessly 
proclaimed  by  the  poor,  unfortunate  sojourners  within 
their  gates.  But  about  the  many  others  we  stop  and 
question —  At  the  entrance  of  each  we  lode  long  and 
interrogatively  in;  and  they  appear  to  us  alike  fair. 
But,  try  as  we  may,  we  are  unable  to  see,  for  the  huge 
trees,  heavy  foliage  and  beautiful  flowers  growing  at 
their  mouths,  the  hills  and  valleys  beyond.  After  some 
serions  debating  upon  the  advisability  of  taking  either 
of  them,  we  at  last  decide  upon  a  road.  It  is,  to  our 
irind,  the  fairest  of  them  all  and,  to  our  imagination, 
promises  at  the  end  great  things.  Surely  success 
awaits  us  at  the  end  of  this  road.  And  so  we  begin 
our  journey  

"But  alas!   One-qtarter  of  the  way  has  not  been 


A  Talk  with  Dorothy 


183 


travelled  before  we  become  aware,  to  our  utter 
dismay,  that  all  that  was  fair  and  lovely  of  the 
clKjsen  road  was  the  entrance.    We  bewail  our 
stupidity  and  unsparingly  censure  oursdves  iot  not 
selecting  one  of  the  others.    As  we  proceed,  how- 
ever, we  find  consolation  in  the  fact  that  we  are  not 
alone ;  for  the  road,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  see,  is  literally 
filled  with  fellow-travellers;  and  they  like  us,  are 
fighting  with  eadi  other  for  a  place  in  the  middle  of 
the  road.    The  strong  toss  the  weak  thoughtlessly 
aside  and,  indifferent  to  their  fate,  march  straight  on. 
This  condition  of  affairs  we  view  with  grave  concern 
and,  consequently,  strive  the  harder  to  retain  our 
place  in  the  road.  We  also  see  Ae  weak,  as  we  con- 
tinue our  journey,  trying  to  edge  their  way  through  the 
throng  and,  with  hands  raised  hesitatingly  toward  the 
branches  of  the  trees  in  their  quest  for  nourishment, 
seek  to  pluck  the  fruit  therefrom.  Their  efforts  are 
futile,  for  they  are  either  ruddy  jostled,  roughly  pushed 
back  or,  unthinkingly,  thrown  down.  Nevertheless, 
they  are  surprisingly  courageous  and  again  and  again 
(^et  to  their  feet  and,  despite  their  waning  strength,  try 
to  regain  a  foothold  in  the  road  of  life.   All  to  no 
purpose,  and  one  by  one  they  stagger  over  to  the 
wayside  and,  bending,  find  their  sustenance  in  the 
hlemished  fruit  lying  upon  the  ground.    This  is  a 
situation,  indeed,  that  fiUs  us  with  alarm,  and  we  begin 


i84 


The  Success  of  Failure 


1 


to  dread  tiie  ending  of  the  road.  To  prevent  sttdi  a 
like  condition  befalling  us,  we  cram,  as  we  go  along, 
every  available  place  in  our  clothing  with  fruit  {Mcked 
from  the  branches. 

"But,  after  all,  to  what  little  use!  We  have  not 
journeyed  very  for  from  this  point,  before  the  fodish- 
ness  of  our  wisdom  is  made  plain  to  us.  The  fruit 
we  deemed  so  wise  to  gather  for  the  satisfying  of  a 
later  day,  we  find,  upon  examination  as  that  day  ap- 
proaches, has  all  decayed  and  is  fit  only  to  be  thrown 
out  'To  what  pn^t  have  we  lived?*  bitterly  ask  we, 
as  it  drops  from  our  trembling  hands.  Woefully  dis- 
couraged, our  gaze  becomes  fearful  as  we  regard  the 
road  ahead.  'What  will  be  the  ending?'  we  wearily 
questi(m  as  we  lode  for  a  place  to  rest ;  but  the  seats, 
dotted  here  and  there  alrnig  tiie  roadside,  already  are 
occupied  with  weary  travellers.  There  is  nothing  for 
us  to  do  but  to  continue  on ;  and  so  we  proceed — but 
more  slowly  now — sadly  confident  that  we  shall  find 
at  the  end  of  the  road,  not  the  success  which  we  be- 
lieved would  await  us,  but  the  dcdeful,  fwm  of 
failure." 

Hannah  sighed  when  the  doctor  had  finished  q[>eak- 
ing,  and  said : 

"That  is  a  sad  road  you  have  pictured,  doctor." 

"Many  do  not  regard  it  as  such.  Those  who  can 
keep  in  tiie  middle  of  the  road  believe  it  to  be  all  rig^t" 


A  Talk  mth  Dorothy 


i8S 


"But  what  about  the  oAmT 

"Ah !  for  them  it  is  all  wrong." 

"Well,"  said  Hannah,  with  a  mournful  shake  of  her 
head,  "it  is  one  upon  which  I  hope  my  Roland's  feet 
shall  never  tread." 

"Give  him  to  me,"  said  Doctcw  Ross  earnestly,  "and 
he  shall  kiww  no  otiner  road  tiian  tlie  out  that  leads  to 
Good." 

"Give  him  to  you!"  exclaimed  Hannah  incredulous- 
ly. "You  don't  know  what  you  ask." 

"Do  you  think  he  will  belong  any  the  less  to  you?" 
asked  the  doctcHr,  a  beautiful  smile  lighting  up  his 

grave  face. 

"J  don't  know  what  you  mean!  Why,  I  wouldn't 
give  him  to  anybody!"  exclaimed  Hannah,  greatly 

excited. 

"I  don't  mean  to  take  him  frcmi  you/'  said  he  gently. 
"And  I  can  assure  you  he  will  be  douUy  yours  if  yoa. 
give  him  to  me." 

"Oh,  now  I  understand,  you  mean  some  sort  of 
guardianship,"  said  Hannah,  her  face  brightening. 
"That  would  be  splendid  for  him,  and  I  cannot  thank 
you  sufficiently  for  ccMrtonplatii^  sudi  a  tiiii^.  In- 
deed," her  face  aglow,  "there  is  no  one  whom  I  should 
so  wish  to  direct  the  life  of  my  boy  than  yoondl, 
Doctor  Ross." 


i86 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"Then  it  is  agreed,"  said  he,  smiiing  and  extending 
his  hand.  -Thank  you." 

"It  is,"  replied  Hannah,  laying  her  hand  in  his.  "But 
what  about  the  fruits  of  the  many  oUier  roads?" 

"It  would  take  too  long  to  speak  of  them  all,"  said 
the  doctor,  gently  releasing  her  hand.  "There  is  one 
other,  however,  whose  entrance  humanity  considers 
most  inviting.  Trees,  laden  with  luscious-appearing 
fruit,  line  the  roadside  for  some  distance  in,  and  flowers 
of  every  hue  entwine  themselves  amoi^  their  branches. 
This  roadway  has  many  twists  and  turns  and  is  open 
only  to  the  few,  which  is  regarded  as  a  lamentable  fact 
by  the  multitude  standing  at  the  entrance,  gazing  long- 
ingly in.  Within  this  road,  they  believe,  lies  power. 
Here  it  is  possible  for  man  to  command  and  be  obeyed ; 
be  a  master  and  not  a  slave.  'Ah !'  say  they,  'if  one 
could  only  be  a  traveller  upon  this  road,  with  what 
pleasure  life  might  be  lived.  Such  a  thing  as  poverty, 
with  its  attributes  of  hunger  and  nakedness,  does  iK^t 
exist  here.  Happiness,  that  fleeting  thing,  if  to  be 
found  anywhere,  must  surely  lie  found  here.  Why 
then,'  impatiently  the>  ask,  'should  they  be  barred,  by 
the  simple  circumstauvC  of  birth  or  something  else 
quite  as  unfortunate,  from  this  altc^fether  lovdy  and 
wholly  desirable  roadway?  Why  are  they  bound  by 
their  necessities  while  the  travellers  of  this  road  are 
lavish  with  luxuries  ?'  And  so  they  go  on,  questioning 


A  Talk  with  Dorothy 


187 


unwisely  and  unprofitably,  yearning  for  the  lesser 
when  they  might  have  the  greater.  Why  long  to  be  a 
master  when  one  mighl  be  a  brother  ?  Why  pine  for 
the  dignity  of  being  served,  when  the  greater  dignity 
is  in  ^  serving?  Why  wish  for  the  ponesskm  of 
material  riches,  when  the  evident  needs  of  another 
make  us  poor,  indeed?  Surely,  of  all  things  most 
foolish,  is  to  seek  ;o  flee  a  poverty  which  is  rich  for  a 
wealth  that  is  poor.  To  seek  to  pick  from  the  branches 
of  the  trees  tiie  Montngly  hi8«iotB  Irait,  n^di  at 
heart  is  dead,  is  to  exchange  happiness  for  misery; 
and  to  gather  the  beautifully  colored  flowers,  from 
which  exude  poisonous  vapors,  is  to  pass  from  hope 
to  despair.  Not  to  perniit  oneself  a  free  and  whole- 
some intercmirse  witii  the  htanan  family,  partkapating 
neither  in  its  joys  nor  in  its  sorrows,  is  to  make  of 
oneself  an  outcast.  Better,  by  far,  take  one  of  the 
many  roads  of  the  multitude  than  the  select  road  of 
the  few." 

"And  that  is  a  road  I  wotdd  not  select  for  my 
Ronald,"  said  Hannah,  her  eyes  swimming  in  tears. 
"Now  tell  me  aoine^ung  about  the  road  that  leads  to 

Good." 

"It  will  not  be  very  much,  that  is  certain,"  said  tiie 
doctor,  throwing  bade  his  head,  "for  who  could  tell 
V  ith  any  degree  of  accuracy  tiie  yitmden  of  that 
kautiful  roadl" 


i88 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"Tell  mt,  anyway  "  f^ded  Haimah. 

"I  will,"  acquiesced  the  doctor,  and  he  began: 
"The  entrance  to  the  road  to  Good,  which  is  never 
closed  but  always  remains  open,  is  not  particularly  at- 
tractive excepting  to  the  wi?'  "  said  he.  "At  either 
side  stand  large  and  stonr  '  ^  /it^  trees,  and  upon 
their  branches  grow  the  fr  .  of  no-compromise.  Be- 
tween the  trees,  holding  up  their  heads  in  all  their 
snowy  loveliness,  are  the  pure-white  lilies  of  a  new 
life.  It  is  not  by  any  means  a  wide  thoroughfare ;  in 
fact,  it  is  ra^O'  a  narrow  road.  To  its  :  ^e  many 
come  and  look  thoughtfully  and  questioningiv  in.  Some 
regard  the  fruit  growing  upon  the  trees  with  a  doubt- 
ful eye,  thinking  its  verdant  green  betokens  an  un- 
desiralde  freshness,  and  h^tate  to  avail  ^lemsdna  of 
the  |»ivil^  of  tasting  and  trying.  Hie  flowers  within 
the  gateway  lack  color,  and  appear  not  nearly  so  lovely 
to  them  as  those  they  have  seen  growing  in  other  road- 
ways. So,  shaking  their  heads  doubtfully,  they  pass 
on.  Others,  more  venttiresome,  d'M»de  tiiey  wilt  taste 
the  fruit,  so  standii^  without  they  stretch  forth  an 
arm  and  pick  some  off.  They  bite  into  it,  and  con- 
clude the  flavor  is  not  altogether  unpleasing,  and  they 
are  inclined  to  enter ;  but  a  glance  at  the  flowers  brings 
a  change  of  mind,  for  they  have  no  desire  to  diange 
the  old  life  for  the  new.  So  they,  too,  pass  on. 
"Then  one,  wiser  than  the  rert,  stops  and  looks  in. 


A  Talk  with  Dorothy 


189 


In  his  face  one  can  read  a  purpose,  and  the  cry  of 
genuine  satisfaction  that  escapes  from  his  lips  as  he 
perceives  the  stalwart  trees,  with  their  fruit-laden 
branches,  and  the  pure,  white  lilies  growing  between, 
states  emphatically  that  his  purpose  is  to  enter  here. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  this  is  the  road  for  which  he 
has  been  seeking;  the  desired  destination  has  been 
reached.  With  haste  he  discards  his  travel-stained 
and  much-worn  garments,  and  with  real  affection 
greets  the  trees  and  kisses  with  gentle  reverence  the 
lilies  at  the  gate,  who,  at  his  touch,  move  with  a 
graceful,  sweeping  motion  to  one  side  ani.  permit  him 
to  enter.  They  then  resume  their  former  \  isition  and 
he,  arrayed  in  new  raiment,  surveys  the  road.  He 
notes— perhaps  woiideniigly^~0uit  here  tiie  travelers 
do  not  strive  for  a  good  piece  of  the  roadway;  each 
has  his  allotted  space  in  which  to  walk  and  wishes  no 
more,  their  time,  evidently,  being  fully  occupied  with 
keeping  of  that  in  order.  Greatly  int«%sted,  he 
Htches  tlKHi  as  witii  stately  tread  and  even  step  they 
move  along,  clearing  as  they  go  the  way  before  them, 
for  no  destroying  object  is  permitted  to  grow  here. 

"With  confidence  he  takes  his  place  in  the  road  and 
begins  the  journey.  He  marvels,  as  he  proceeds,  at 
the  ccnttinued  fre«li  greenness  of  the  fruit  growing  up- 
on the  branches  of  the  trees ;  and  it  is  not  long  before 
he  discovers  that  its  all-sustainii^  qualities  are  bom 


190  Thg  Success  of  Failwf 

of  the  seed  of  Truth  and  tiiat  all  alike  may  partake 
of  it.  Witib  tfie  head-gardeners,  Love  and  Execution, 
he  is  fast  becoming  acquainted,  imbibing  the  knowl- 
edge they  impart  with  great  avidity ;  for  to  this  knowl- 
edge, he  learns,  can  be  imputed  the  good  understand- 
ing existing  among  his  fdlow-travdlers,  producing 
their  mutual  respect  f<a>  eadi  odier.  Here,  he  realins. 
if  anywhere,  the  human  family  bectmies  the  divine 
family,  the  old  is  exchange  for  the  new  and  the  bad 
for  the  good. 

"As  he  is  nearing  the  end.  he  turns  and  lodes  back 
and,  standing  in  the  golden-hued  autumn  of  life,  con- 
cludes that  the  road  to  Good  was  a  beautiful  one ;  the 
knov^'ledge  it  imparted  spoke  of  tiie  uifinite,  tliat  man* 
kind,  as  the  Got&iead,  is  <me,  and  the  understandmg 
of  that  oneness  makes  the  fruit  of  the  road  to  Good 
immortal." 

"And  my  little  Ronald  is  to  be  a  traveller  upon  that 
road!"  exclaimed  Hannah,  her  hands  tightly  clasped 
in  her  lap  and  her  face  reflecting,  in  a  great  measure, 
the  wcmderful  light  which  iUununml  the  doctor's  face 
as  he  fini^ed  speaking.  "I  am  so  glad,  so  gladl  No 
oflier  road  woaM  I  willingly  have  chosen  for  him." 

The  doctor  smiled  quizzically  down  into  her  eyes 
which  still  remained  fascinatingly  fixed  upon  his  face. 


A  Talk  with  Dorothy 


191 


"You  are  a  wise  mother,"  he  said.  "And  we  will 
r  ^  eak  ef  this  again.   But  now  I  must  attend  to 

mail." 
"Can  I  help  you?" 

"Yes,"  replied  he,  rising  to  his  feet  and  turning  to 
leave  the  room.   "I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will  do  m>" 

ami,  walking  quickly  over  to  his  desk,  he  pttUed  out  lint 
oIia:r  which  stood  in  front  of  it  and  sat  down. 

i  iannah  immediately  rose  from  her  seat  and  followed 
him. 

"While  I  am  reading  this  one,"  said  he,  tearing  open 
an  envelope  and  removing  its  cmitents,  "you  n»y  qpen 
the  rest  of  these,  and  with  a  gende  movement  of  his 
disengaged  hand  the  doctor  pudttd  a  neat  pile  of 
letters  to  one  side  of  his  desk. 

"X'ery  well,"  and  Hannah  drew  a  chair  to  that  side 
of  the  desk  and  sat  down. 

In  lesA  tiian  half-an-faour  tiie  letters  wen  opened  and 
read  and  marked  for  reply,  and  Hannah  was  walkiny 
back  to  her  office  carrying  them  in  her  hand. 

As  she  disappeared  through  the  door-way,  the 
doctor  arose  from  his  chair  and  walked  to  the  window. 
A  glance  informed  him  that  his  automobile,  with  John's 
motionless  figure  in  the  front  seat,  stood  at  the  curb. 
He  tapped  lightly  upon  the  window-pane,  and  un- 


Thi;  Success  of  Failure 


hcfitatingly  John's  head  turned  in  the  direction  of  the 
sound.  A  nod  and  smile  of  recogiiition  accompanied 
with  a  look  which  fell  not  short  of  being  brotherly 
passed  between  the  two  mm.  Doctor  Rom  then  left 
the  window  and  begtn  to  prefMre  for  his  round  of 
morning  calls,  and  his  servant  turned  hit  hnd  ftway 
and  looked  straight  ahead. 


CHAPTER  XV 


PlAlf  K  &^TU8  TUB  ROCTITAL  OF  THB  MBIT  MBTR 

THE  office-door  opened,  and  Doctor  Ross  raised  his 
eyes  enqvfrirjgly. 
"Oh,  if •  yott,  FfMik,'*  he  said,  with  a  smile,  as  he 

rose  to  his  feet. 

"Yes,"  said  Frank,  ttep^  ia  and  dodng  the  door 
behind  him. 

"Ghd  to  see  you,  old  feUow,"  said  the  doctor,  ex- 
tending hif  hand  as  he  crossed  the  room  to  meet  him. 
"How  are  you?"  and  he  shook  the  hand  Frank  placed 

in  his  warmly.  "Take  a  seat,  and  just  as  soon  as  I 
have  finished  reading  this,"  holding  up  th  aper  in 
his  left  hand,  "IH  be  right  with  you." 

Frank  smiled  and  nodded  in  reqjonse,  but  instead 
of  sitting  down  he  waflced  over  to  *he  window  and 
looked  out. 

The  doctor  went  back  to  his  seat  and  resumed  the 
reading  of  the  paper.  It  was  soon  read  and,  after 
placing  it  in  the  hiside  pocket  of  his  coat,  he  got  up 
and  walked  over  to  the  window  where  Frank  stood 
and  laid  a  hand  upcm  each  of  his  shoulders. 

193  ' 


194 


The  Success  of  FaUure 


At  theii  touch,  Frank  immediately  turned  around. 

"Well,  doctor,"  said  he,  with  a  wan  smile,  "I've  come 
over  to  give  up  my  job." 

"What  for?"  calmly  asked  the  doctor.  "Sit  down 
and  let  us  talk  it  over." 

"There  isn't  any  use,  as  far  as  I  can  see,"  stud 
Frank,  wearily  sinking  down  into  the  nearest  chair. 

"Perhaps  you  can't  see  very  well,"  said  the  doctor, 
seating  himself  on  a  cliair  op|)osite. 

"Perhaps  not,"  replied  Frank,  with  a  mournful  shake 
of  his  head.  "But,  for  that  matter,  I  have  teamed  I 
am  not  the  only  one  so  afflicted." 

"What  made  yoti  conclude  to  give  up  your  w(^? 
Not  the  inability  to  secure  patients,  surely?" 

"No,  I  can't  say  it  was  that  exactly,"  said  Frank 
hesitatingly.  "The  truth  is,"  he  Unrted  out,  "I  am 
too  sick,  myself,  to  sedc  any  furtlier,'*  and  his  head 
sank  into  his  hands. 

"My  poor  Frank,"  said  the  doctor,  and  the  notes  of 
the  paternal  and  maternal  blended  in  his  voice. 

From  Frank's  lips  came  a  dismal  moan. 

"If  I  were  tiie  only  one  ao  affected,  I  bdieve  I  could 
stand  it,"  said  he,  raisii^  his  head ;  "but  my  quest  for 
patients  has  opened  my  eyes  to  the  fact  that  the  whole 
world  is  infected  with  this  same  terrible  sickness,  and 
the  worst  of  it  all  is  it  seems  to  be  oUivious  of  tiw 
fact** 


Frank  Enters  the  Hospital 


195 


"Your  work,  then,  has  not  been  without  its  compen- 
sati(Mi ;  you  have  learned  sometiiing." 

"I  can't  say,  though,  that  I  altogether  value  the 
kuuv\  ledge,"  replied  Frank,  with  a  sickly  smile. 

'No?  Why?" 

"Becawse  the  compensation  derived  from  a  painful 
knowledge  is  never  pleasant." 

"Not  if  it  be  true?" 

"I  can't  see  that  the  falsity  or  truth  of  a  coodttkm 
makes  the  result  any  the  less  terrible." 

"The  trouble  with  you,  Frank,"  said  the  doctor, 
smiling  gravely,  "is  that  the  truth  terrifies  you.  Never 
before  have  you  beheld  her  in  all  of  her  nakedness,  and 
lier  no-compromising  presence  fills  you  with  alarm. 
In  your  pursuit  of  patients,  she  has  permitted  you  to 
lode  through  her  cl«ar  lenses,  and  you  are  appalled  to 
find  tlie  same  sickness  within  yourself  that  you  ex> 
pected  to  find  in  others.  Also,  you  know  conditions  to 
be  what  they  are  and  not  what  they  seem,  and  they 
irighten  you.  And  that  is  not  surprising.  However, 
there  is  a  fear  that  is  productive  of  health  and  a  com- 
placency that  breeds  disease.  Now  ten  me  just  how 
}ou  feel." 

"H»w  I  feel,"  said  Frank  languidly ;  "words  would 
fail  to  tell  you  how  I  feel.  I  am  sick,"  shaking  his  head 
forlornly.  "I  am  woefully  and  awfully  sick,  that  is 
all  I  can  tell  you." 


196 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"But  how  does  the  sickness  affect  you?"  persisted 
the  doctor.    "Surely,  you  can  describe  some  of  the 

symptoms." 

"It  affects  me  all  over,"  replied  Frank  weakly.  "I 
am  like  an  old  machine  with  all  of  its  parts  astray, 
and  being  so  badly  scattered  about  among  the  rubbish 
they  are  not  to  be  found,  even  though  I  had  the  in- 
clination to  look  for  them,  which  I  have  not." 

"By  that,  you  mean  to  say,  I  suppose,  you  have  lort 
all  interest  in  life?" 

"I  fail  to  see  anything  in  it  for  me." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that." 

"You  are,"  replied  Frank,  momentarily  interested 
and  then  leaning  wearily  back  in  his  chair.  "Iwi't  that 
a  rather  Strang  statonent  for  a  {Aysidan  to  make  ?" 

"Is  it?"  returned  the  doctor,  with  a  low  musical 
laugh.  "Then,  perhaps,  it  would  be  well  for  me  to 
explain  the  meaning  of  it." 

"Very  well,"  indifferently  replied  Frank. 

"To  meet  the  needs  of  the  human  body  with  which 
man  is  endowed,"  said  the  doctor,  "that  body  is  pro- 
vided with  a  human  appetite,  the  individual  satisfying 
of  which  means  the  continuation  of  the  representation 
of  existii^  humanity ;  that  is,  each  member  as  it  enters 
the  human  family  and  continues  therein  is  required  to 
eat  the  nourishment  needed  for  the  sustenance  of  his 
or  her  individual  human-body,  no  other  member  being 


Frank  Enters  the  Hospital  197 

able  to  perform  that  office.  To  iIlustrate,-No  mother 
no  matter  how  great  may  be  the  love  she  bears  for  her 
child  can  eat  or  drink  for  him  the  substance  required 
for  the  growth  of  his  human-body.   If  he  is  to  grow 
he  must  swallow  the  food  that  is  put  into  his  mouth.' 
Nor  can  she  take  for  him  the  exercise  needed  for  his 
physical  devetepment.  He  must  stretch  out  the  baby- 
arms  squirm  kick  and  creep  to  strengthen  the  tiny 
baby-body,  ,f,  later  on,  he  is  to  become  a  walkuw 
perpendicular  human-self.  So  it  is  with  the  unfoldir^ 
of  thatinfantile  mentality;  he  must  do  his  own  think- 
ing.  The  controlKng  force  of  that  body  is  ever  in- 
dividualistic and  gives  its  rights  to  no  other. 

"As  it  is  with  the  human-dress  of  the  chfld."  he  con- 
toued.  so  it  is  with  the  child  expressed  in  the  dress. 
He,  too  is  endowed  with  an  appetite,  and  his  represen- 
tation depends  upon  the  nourishment  he  receives  To 
g:row,  he  must  eat,  and  to  eat  he  must  be  fed;  to  ex- 
pand, he  must  exercise,  and  time  and  wfllingness  mnst 
be  given  to  that  exercise.  The  unfolding  of  that  won- 
derful  understanding,  means  a  life  lived  with  its  great- 
er understanding,  if  the  life  is  to  be  active  and  fulfill 
'ts  purpose.   To  neglect  ^ese  thmgs,  deeming  them 
of  non-importance,  is  to  cause  his  impoverishment 
causing  a  blindness,  which,  in  turn,  produces  an  in- 
difference to  growth  and  an  unwiUingness  to  know  or 
understand." 


198  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Well, "  said  Frank,  making  a  feeble  attempt  to  ap- 
pear interested,  "what  has  all  this  got  to  do  with  me?" 
"Everything,  for  it  is  the  cause  of  your  sickness." 
"The  cause  of  my  sickness?"  queried  Frank,  be- 
wildered. "Explain  further,  I  don't  quite  understand." 

"No ;  and  it  is  going  to  be  difficult  to  make  you  un- 
derstand," replied  the  doctor,  sadly.  "You  are  suffer- 
ing from  soul  paralysis,  caused  by  the  continued  in- 
action of  the  life-controlling  force." 

"What  in  thunder  are  you  talking  about,  doctor?" 
asked  Frank,  becoming  irritated.  "No  man  living 
ever  lived  any  cleaner  life  than  I  have.  What  do  you 
mean  to  insinuate  ?" 

"I  am  not  finding  fault  with  the  way  in  which  you 
take  care  of  'yo"''  coat  of  skin,'*  Frank,"  said  the 
doctor,  sootI.ingly,  "for  you  have  taken  excellent  care 
of  it;  the  trouble  is,  it  has  outgrown  you.  It  has  be- 
come your  master  and  you  its  slave.   At  its  'come,' 
you  follow ;  at  its  command  of  'no  further,'  you  stand 
still.    So  varied  and  multitudinous  have  been  its  de- 
mands that  all  of  your  time  has  been  taken  up  in  en- 
deavoring to  meet  them;  so  busy  have  you  keen  you 
have  hardly  been  aware  that  you  had  an  appetite ;  so 
intently  have  you  listened  to  its  voice  you  have  nearly 
lost  the  use  of  >  our  own.  In  striving  to  find  a  suitable 
place  for  its  well-being  and  growth,  you  have  disre- 
garded those  higher  tilings  necessary  for  your  own 


Gen.  iii,  ai. 


Frank  Enters  the  Ho^pUal 


199 


growth  and  well-being.  The  result  is,  you  are  sick 
and  need  treatment." 

"Well,  what  do  you  prescribe?"  asked  Frank. 

That  you  enter  the  Hospital  of  The  New  Birth  for 
treatment. 

"You  think,  then,  there  is  hope?" 

"Undoubtedly." 

"When  do  you  advise  me  to  apply  for  admittance?" 

"Now,  this  afternoon.  You  may  come  with  rae  and 
I  will  see  you  are  admitted." 

"What  time  are  you  going  over  ?" 

"I  am  due  there  at  two  o'clock,  but  as  there  is 
nothing  here  to  keep  me,  Jdin  might  as  well  take  ui 
right  over,"  and  the  doctor  rose  and  put  on  his  hat  and 
coat. 

"What  do  they  charge  a  day  in  the  ward?"  asked 
Frank  as  they  were  going  out 

"Don't  let  that  concern  you,"  said  the  doctor,  put- 
ting his  arm  in  a  friendly  way  through  Frank's  arm  as 
tliey  went  down  the  steps.  "I  am  rv^spon.'ible  for  any 
expense  you  may  incur  there.  You  are  still  in  my 
employ,  yon  know." 

"It's  very  good  of  you  doctor."  mu^nured  Frank, 
preceding  the  doctor  into  the  automobile. 

The  doctor's  response  was  a  heavy  sigh  as  he  sat 
down  beside  him. 

"What's  the  meaning  of  the  sigh,  doctor?"  asked 


300 


The  Success  of  FaUwre 


Frank  as  the  automobile  began  to  make  its  way  down 
the  street. 
The  doctor  smiled. 

"In  your  present  condition,  you  wouldn't  understand 
if  I  should  tell  you,"  he  said. 
"I  might  try." 

"Well,  then,  it  is  your  inability  to  recognize  me." 
"Oh.  is  that  all,"  replied  Frank,  laying  his  hand 

affectionately  upon  the  doctor's  shoulder.  "Don't  lot 
that  worry  you ;  for.  T  can  tell  you,  I  consider  you  the 
best  fellow  I  ever  knew." 

"Thank  you,"  replied  the  doctor  gravely. 

"What  kind  of  a  hospital  is  the  Hospital  of  The  New 
Birth  ? "  asked  Frank.  "Is  it  a  private  or  a  public  in- 
stitution ?" 

"It  is  both ;  yet  not  in  the  sense  that  you  understand 
the  words  to  imply,"  replied  the  doctor  smiling.  "That 
is,  there  are  no  private  rocmis  to  be  obtained  for  any 
consideration.  All  the  rooms  are  alike  and  are  used 
as  needed  and,  therefore,  wards  are  not  necessary.  In 
this  hospital,  no  undergraduate  nurses  are  employed; 
they  must  all  be  graduates  and  are  required  to  accord 
to  all  patients  the  same  attention.  The  treatment  is 
private,  no  one  but  the  Great  Physician  and  the  patient 
bein.g  present.  Admission,  too,  must  be  sought  private- 
ly, the  requirement,  being  the  desire  and  willingness 
of  the  patient  to  be  made  anew." 


Frank  Enters  the  Hospital 


201 


"That  sounds  good,"  replied  Frank,  thoughtfully. 
"It  would  just  be  my  luck,  though,  to  get  over  there 
and  then  be  told  that  for  every  room  there  was  an 
occupant  and,  therefore,  there  was  no  room  for  me." 

"Have  no  fear  of  that,  Frank,"  assured  the  doctor. 
"There  is  never  any  lack  of  room  in  that  hospital.  Its 
doors  are  always  open,  and  a  welcome  awa'ts  all  they 
who  seek  to  entw.'* 

"There's  no  overcrowding,  then,"  said  Frank,  with  a 
si?:!i  of  relief ;  "that's  a  blessing.  What  school  is  re- 
sponsible for  its  founding  and  continuance?" 

"The  School  of  the  New  Born.  You  will  be  eligible 
for  membership  after  you  have  taken  the  cottrse  of 
treatment  prescribed  by  the  Doctor  at  the  Hospitri." 

"What  is  the  treatment?"  asked  Frank,  betraying  a 
slight  uneasiness. 

"If  you  would  appreciate  the  result,"  replied  the 
doctor,  smilingr  enigmaticaHy,  "you  musf  experience 
the  treatment." 

"To  be  well,  it  seems  to  me,"  exclaimed  FnuOc,  "I 
would  submit  to  any  treatment." 

"That's  Ae  way  to  talk,"  retarned  the  Aoci  t.  "Here 
we  are,"  and  the  automobile  turned  into  a  road  that 
led  up  to  a  large,  pure-white  stone  building.  When  it 
reached  the  foot  of  the  steps  leading  to  the  entrance  it 
stopped,  and  the  doctor  alighted. 

"This  is  the  place,"  said  he,  "come  on,  Frank." 


ao2       .       The  Success  of  Failure 

"All  rig^t,"  slowly  rq)lied  Frank,  his  mind  not  en- 
tirely free  frmn  doubt  as  he  rose  a  trifle  rrioctaatly 

from  his  seat  and  followed  the  doctor  up  the  short 
flight  of  steps.  When  they  reached  the  top  and  stood 
upon  the  threshold,  Frank  paused  and  turned  and  for 
the  moment  hesitated.  As  he  did  so,  he  waa  Mtrprtsed 
to  see  the  form  of  a  man,  decre{Mt  and  old,  wh^se  face 
strangely  resembled  his  own,  standing  beside  him. 
Pitifully  pleading  were  the  eyes  in  the  aged  face  up- 
raised to  his  in  their  voiceless  entreaty  that  he  should 
go  no  further;  eager  were  tfie  taking,  outstretched 
arms  in  their  wordless  beseeching  that  he  should  not 
utterly  and  entirely  forsake  and  abandon  their  owner. 
Frank's  heart  sank  within  him  as  he  stood  there  sadly 
contemplating  the  feeble,  trembling  figure,  and  he 
questioned  seriously  whetiier  he  ritould,  or  should  iM>t, 
leave  this  old  man  to  the  loneliness  and  infirmities  of 
old  age.  But  the  gentle  pressure  of  the  doctor's  hand 
upon  his  arm  decided  the  question  for  him,  and  he 
knew  that  he  must ;  there  was  no  other  way.  So,  with 
a  last  I'^g  lock,  into  the  dim  eyes  of  tiie  grief-rent, 
wrinkled  face  and  with  a  gesture  of  utter  helplessness, 
Frank  bade  it  a  mute  farewell  and  passed  with  the 
doctor  through  the  open-door,  perceiving  not,  as  he 
went,  that  the  aged  face  and  form  of  the  self  he  left 
behind  was  bdng  gentiy  consumed  by  tiie  golden  l^fht 
^at  dione  frmn  the  pwtals  wi;hin. 


Prmtk  Bnttri  the  HoipM 


ao3 


Farther  we  cannot  go.  Would  we,  if  we  could? 
Would  we  know  tiie  meuiing  of  abtdute  newneu,  tiie 
abandcming  of  the  oldness  of  the  old  for  the  newness 
of  the  new,  the  putting  of  new  wine  in  new  bottles; 
the  replacing  of  old  institutions  with  the  new;  not 
the  intermingling  of  old  with  new,  not  the  putting  of 
new  whie  ta  dd  botties,  ''nor  tlie  mendii^  of  dd  gar- 
ments with  tile  new"  ?  If  we  would,  tiicn  wilb  a  little 
tiiinking  we  may.  To  have  a  new  order,  a  new  society, 
we  must  have  a  new  creature,  and  not  one  but  all  must 
experience  the  treatment  of  the  Hospital  of  The  New 
Birth. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


DOCTOK  SOSS  KEEPS  HIS  APPOINTMENT  WITH  DOKOTHY 

"J  THINK  that's  Doctor  Ross,  Bertha,"  said  Dorothy 
1  as  the  bell  rang.  "If  it  is,  tell  him  to  step  into 
my  room  and  I'll  be  in  in  a  very  few  minutes." 

"Very  well,  ma'am,"  said  Bertha,  and  she  stepped 
out  to  open  the  door. 

"Good-morning,  Bertha,"  said  Doctor  Ross,  for,  as 
Dorothy  had  predicted,  it  was  he.  "Is  Miss  Ridbard* 
son  in  ?" 

"Yis,  sah,"  replied  Bertha,  with  a  broad  smile.  "She's 
'spectin'  yo',  sah,  an'  told  me  to  ax  yo'  to  step  into 
her  room  an'  she  would  be  right  in." 

"Thank  you,"  '  nd  his  tall  form,  with  its  stooped 
shoulders,  passed  on  up  the  hall. 

"It's  the  doctor,  ma'am,"  announced  Bertha  when 
she  returned  to  the  kitchen. 

"I  thought  so,"  said  Dorothy,  not  troubling  to  turn 
her  head  and  keq>ing  rig^t  (hi  witfi  what  die  was  do- 
ing, counting  and  sorting  soiled  clothes  for  tiie  laundry. 
"Now,"  as  she  placed  the  last  piece  in  the  hamper  with 

304 


Doctor  Ross  Keeps  His  Appointment  aos 

the  list  on  top,  "this  is  all  ready  for  anyone  that 

comes.' 

"I'll  attend  to  it,  ma'am,"  said  Berth..,  and  Dorothy, 
with  a  "thank  you,"  walked  out  of  the  kitdMn. 

"It's  awfully  good  of  you  to  come  over  so  early. 
Bob,"  were  the  words  with  which  she  greeted  Doctor 
Ross  as  she  sat  down  beside  him  upon  the  couch. 
"And  I  am  very  glad  for  I  have  so  much  to  tell  you." 

"About  your  difficulties?^  queried  he,  nniling. 

"Yes;  and  to  add  to  iStam  I  find  tiiat  Mr.  Thomp- 
son's bed  was  not  slept  in  last  nig^t.  The  last  time  I 
saw  him  was  a  little  before  noon  yesterday,  and  then 
he  looked  far  from  well.  I  am  afraid  something  r-r- 
rible  has  happened  to  him." 

"Something  has  happened  to  him,"  said  the  doctor 
quietly,  "he  is  sick  and  in  the  hospital.  But  there  is 
no  cause  for  alarm,"  added  he  assturinc^y,  "Iot  he  will 
soon  be  well." 

"Why  did  he  go  to  a  hospital?"  asked  Dorpthy, 
much  concerned.  "I  am  sure  he  would  have  been  just 
as  well-off  here.  I  hate  to  thmk  of  any  immte  of  the 

'home-living  place'  being  in  a  hospital." 

"And  yet  it  was  the  only  thing  for  him  to  do." 

"What  makes  you  so  sure  of  that,  Bob?" 

"Because  he  needed  a  treatment  entirely  different 
from  any  you  could  give  him,  Dorothy,"  replied  the 


ao6 


The  Success  of  Failure 


doctor,  laying  his  hand  gently  over  one  ol  heri  lying 
in  her  lap. 

"I  would  have  done  my  best,"  said  Dorothy,  per- 
mitting her  hand  to  rest  quietly  under  his.  "Surely, 
you  cannot  ask  any  more." 

"No;  nor  do  I  ask  that  of  you,  Dorothy.  Thomp- 
son's sickness  is  one  which  your  best  could  nev. 
cure." 

"But  yours  and  mine  might,"  suggested  Dorothy 

gravely. 

"United,  yes;  but  separate  and  apart,  never." 

Dorothy  sighed  and  leaned  back  wearily  against  die 
\a.ck  of  the  coudi. 

"Do  you  know,  Bob,*'  said  she,  "sometiniet  I  wish 
we  were  united." 

"And  at  oCier  times  you  are  glad  we  are  not,  I 
suppose." 

"Yes;  when  I  am  confronted  with  conditions  into 
which  you  would  not  fit  at  all,  I  am  g^d.  Conditaons, 
regrettable  perhaps,  and  yet,  nevertiieless,  knpoasible 

to  do  without." 

"Poor  Dorothy,"  said  the  doctor  sighing,  "don'l 
you  know  that  any  condition  which  is  deemed  regret- 
taWe  should  be  done  without?" 

"And  if  it  is,  another  as  bad  will  spring  up." 

"Then  that,  too,  should  be  done  without." 

Dorothy  did  not  reply  and  the  doctor  ccmtintted: 


Doctor  Ross  Keeps  his  Appointment 


Aii  that  'offends  or  makes  weak'  should  be  up- 
looted  and  cast  out.  The  attitude  that  tolerates  one 
evil  for  fear  a  worse  may  come  is  a  dangerous  one,  for 
in  its  pitiful  if[iionnce  it  fosters  the  parent  of  many 
succeeding  evils." 

That's  all  very  well,"  replied  Dorothy  impatiendx. 
•But  who  is  able  to  do  this?  I  am  not" 
"I  am." 

•You,  Bob!  then  why  don't  you  do  it r 

"Because  my  time  has  not  come.  When  it  does,  no 

evil  can  behold  my  face  and  live." 
"ilow  long  must  we  wait?" 

"Until  the  human  family  awakens  to  the  realization 
of  its  great  need  of  me.  But  now  tell  me  something 
of  your  difficulties/'  said  he,  pattii^  her  hand  en- 
couragingly. 

"It's  too  bad  to  bother  you  with  my  troubles,  Bob," 
replied  Dorothy,  raising  a  pair  of  tired  e}es  hesita- 
tingly to  his  face. 

'  I  understand,  Dorothy,"  said  the  doctor  sympathet- 
icaliy.  "I  know  you  would  not  do  so  if  there  were 
any  possible  way  of  overcoming  them  without  my 
assistance." 

That's  just  it.  Bob,"  replied  Dorothy  with  a  weary 
»y^..\.  "But  my  difficulties  have  grown  until  tiicy  are 
pusitiyely  alarming.  They  are  becoming  more  numer- 
f  us  every  day,  and  I  really  don't  know  where  they 


208 


The  Success  of  Failure 


begin  and  am  afraid  to  think  wnere  they  may  end. 
Sometimes  I  question  the  advisability  of  going  on,  and 
then,  again,  i  am  doubtful  of  the  consequence  if  I 
should  go  back." 

"Poor  Dorothy,  but  what  do  you  think  is  your 
greatest  difficulty?" 

"I  don't  know,  Bob,  but  I  think  it  is  the  dissatis- 
faction that  stalks  with  me  at  every  step,"  replied 
Dorothy.  "No  one  is  satisfied;  all  think  they  »re  de- 
serving of  more  than  they  receive,  and  not  any  but 
long  for  more  and  more  of  this  world's  goods." 

"I  see,  their  lives  are  one  continual  wish." 

"Yes,  and  try  as  I  may,  I  am  unable  to  meet  all  of 
their  demands." 

"And  you  wonder  why,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"And  you  would  like  me  to  tell  you,  is  that  it?" 
"Yes,  if  you  can." 

"Because  you  can  only  fill  part  of  the  requirements 

of  a  condition,  is  one  of  the  reasons,  Dorothy.  Some- 
one else  is  needed  to  fill  the  other  part.  Without  this 
someone's  aid,  the  work  is  only  partly  done  and  pro- 
duces an  incomplete  Service." 

"I  must  confess,  Bob,"  said  Dorothy  sadly,  "my 
work,  in  many  respects,  is  woefully  disappointing." 

"It  is  bound  to  be  so.  Dorot'iy,"  said  the  doctor, 
rising  from  the  couch  and  I  c.-^inninT  to  walk  leisurely 


Doctor  Ross  Keeps  His  Appointment  209 

up  and  down  the  room,  "when  you  prohibit  some<Mie, 
whose  right  it  is,  to  do  his  part  of  the  work." 

"Then  to  do  away  with  all  of  this  dissatisfaction," 
queried  she,  "I  must  marry  you." 

"Yes,  Dorothy";  it  is  the  only  way," 

Dorothy  did  not  reply  immediately  but  sat  thought- 
fully silent  for  several  minutes,  then  she  said : 

"I  wish  I  could  feel  as  sure  in  my  mind  as  you  do. 
Bob,  that  the  only  tiling  needed  to  perfect  my  servi^  is 
this  union  with  you.  But,  candidly,  I  must  say,  I  have 
grave  doubts." 

"They  will  all  disappear  after  we  are  married,"  said 
the  doctor,  and  he  stopped  in  his  walk  and  smiled  con- 
fidently down  upon  her.  "And  the  wonder  of  it  all 
will  be  that  you  ever  had  any." 

"I  wish  I  could  believe  so,"  said  Dorothy,  with  a 
doubtful  shake  of  her  head. 

"I  know  so,"  emphatically  said  the  doctor. 

"What,  then,  will  become  of  my  limne-ltvii^ 
place'?" 

"You  never  succeeded  in  establishing  such  a  place, 
Dorothy,"  replied  the  doctor,  sitting  down  beside  her. 
"You  hoped  to  do  so,  but  in  reality  all  you  have  been 
able  to  do  is  to  build  a  more  or  less  charitable  institu- 
tion and,  under  present  conditions,  it  can  never  be 
aught  else,  for,  to  establish  a  'home-living  place'  with- 
out ine  is  an  impossibility." 


2IO 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"Why  an  impossibility?"  imperatively  demanded 
Dorothy. 

"Because  we  are  so  constituted  we  cannot  perform 
any  perfect  work  independently;  we  art  absolutely 
necessary  to  each  oth«  r  and  " 

"It  is  utterly  impossible  to  render  a  service  complete 
without  you,"  interrupted  Dorothy  sharply. 

"That  is  true,"  said  the  doctor  quietly.  "Why,  then, 
do  you  hesitate,  Dorothy  ?  Don't  you  want  to  render 
a  service  perfect  and  complete?" 

"Indeed  I  do,  Bob,"  she  replied,  very  earnestly. 
"But,"  throwing  out  her  hands  helplessly,  "how  can 
I?" 

"By  permitting  me  to  pull  half  of  the  load." 
"Yes,  but  I  should  have  to  abandon  my  road  for 
yours,"  complained  she. 
"You  would." 

"However,"  thoughtfully  said  she,  "I  don't  believe  I 
should  obje  .t  to  that,  if  I  were  sure  as  much  could  be 
accomplished  along  that  way." 

"Ah,  Dorothy,"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  "how  piti- 
fully ignorant  you  are  of  my  road!  After  you  have 
travelled  it,"  laying  his  hand  affectionately  upon  her 
shoulder,  "you'll  ne'er  forsake 't  for  another.  Results 
unheard  of  and  undreameJ  of  by  you  are  achieved 
there ;  life  in  all  its  richness  and  beauty  is  lived  there, 
and  is  disemed  by  aH  an  enjoyaUe  and  an  ever  eadurn^ 


Doctor  Ross  Keeps  His  Appointment  211 


fact.  Humanity,  with  all  of  its  unpurchasable  rights, 
is  found  there,  and  human  waste  is  unknown.  Believe 
nie,  my  dear,  if  I  did  not  know  it  to  be  in  every  way 
superior  to  the  one  you  are  travelling,  I  would  not  ask 
you  to  make  the  change." 

"How  is  it,  Bob,"  asked  Dorothy,  wrinkling  her 
forehead  into  a  puzzled  frown,  "that  you  are  so 
cognizant  of  all  the  defects  of  my  road  while  I  am  un- 
:ible  to  appreciate  the  advanti^  of  yours?" 

"It  is  because  you  have  so  pernstently  lodced  in  the 
one  direction.  For  that  reason  you  are  unable  to  see 
or  appreciate  any  other  and,  naturally,  conclude  there 
is  no  other." 

"And  what  will  render  the  seeing  of  the  other  pos- 
sible?" 

"Our  marriage." 

"Is  there  no  other  way?" 

"There  is  no  other  way,  Dorothy." 

Then,  resignedly,  "I  suppose  I  shali  ;.ave  to 

submit." 

"Rut  there  is  a  condition." 
"What  is  it?" 

"You  must  grant  me  tm{^cit  obedtenee." 

"Well,  that  is  something  to  consider,"  Mid  DcMOthjr, 
thouc^htfully  raising  her  eyes  to  his  face. 
"This  obedience  will  not  be  grievous,  I  assure  you, 


212 


The  Success  of  Failure 


Dorothy,  and  in  the  course  of  time  will  be  to  you  a 
crown  of  enduring  glory." 

"What  will  be  the  outcome  if  I  continue  my  present 
course?" 

"Disquietude,  unrest,  unhappiness— and  then  utter 
destruction." 

"And  that  is  my  destiny  if  I  persist  in  taking  my 
own  road?"  queried  Dorothy,  her  head  bent  and  her 
eyes  fixed  intently  upon  the  rug  at  her  feet. 

"It  is." 

"And  what  after  Aat?" 

"Out  of  the  chaos  will  come  a  greater  wisdom  than 
yours,  Dorothy — a  wisdom  born  from  the  knowledge 
gained  from  the  many  years  spent  in  the  school  of 
Service.  She  will  not  scorn  nor  question  the  taking  of 
my  road,  for  she  will  recognize  it  as  being  the  only 
way,  knowing  that  all  other  roadways  can  lead  but  to 
one  place — the  city  of  desolation  and  despair.  But, 
surely,  this  need  not  be,  for  I  love  you,  Dorothy.  The 
love  with  which  I  would  surround  you,  I  know  is  far 
beyond  your  ken  or  understanding.  It  is  great  in  its 
depth,  wonderful  in  its  power  and  unmeasurable  in  its 
contents.  All  that  is  necessary  to  make  all  things  pos- 
sible unto  you,  is  to  accept  it.  Why,  then,  do  you 
hesitate?" 

"I  wouldn't,  Bob,"  wailed  she,  "If  I  could  only  be- 


Doctor  Ross  Keeps  His  Appointment  213 


lieve  it,  but  I  cannot ;  and  that,  to  me,  is  the  most  hope- 
less thing  about  it  all." 

"Your  unbelief?" 

"Yes." 

"Have  your  difficulties  taught  you  lU^ing,  then?" 

Dorothy  did  not  reply,  and  the  doctor  continued : 
"True  belief  is  based  upon  a  knowledge  of  facts; 

therefore,  I  do  not  ask  you  to  believe  but  'to  taste 

and  try.' " 

"Yes,  but  this  is  a  case  of  buying  before  'tastii^^  and 

trying,'  "  replied  Dcm^y,  fretfully. 

"Which  makes  you  rather  doubt  the  advisability  of 
deserting  a  known  condition,  although  it  has  proven 
entirely  unsatisfying,  for  one  unknown,  even  though 
it  promises  to  prove,  in  every  Mray,  satisfying?" 

"That's  it.  Bob,  it  promises  to,  but  I  am  not  sure 
that  it  w  ill.  Frove  to  me  that  it  will,  and  I  will  marry 
you  without  further  delay." 

"I  cannot,  Dorothy,"  replied  the  doctor,  sadly  shak- 
ing his  head.  "The  proof  of  it  is  dependent  upon  our 
union." 

"Then,  I  suppose."  said  she,  reluctantly,  "I  must 
consent  to  it,"  and,  rising  to  her  feet,  she  walked  wiUi 
faltering  step  over  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

"If  you  would  be  happy,  you  must,"  replied  the 
doctor,  standing  up.  "Bat,  I  can  assure  you,  you  will 


The  Success  of  Failure 


never  regret  it,"  and  he  stepped  quickly  over  to  where 
she  stood. 

"Let  us  hope  so,"  said  she,  looking  up  at  him  with  a 
vi  an  smile. 

"What  a  doubtful  Dorothy,"  said  the  doctor,  smiling 
gravely  down  upon  her.  "Never  mind,  this  life  of 
hoping  and  doubting  will  soon  be  at  an  end  tor  you," 
and  he  stooped  over  and  tenderly  kissed  her  quivering 
Ups. 

"I  can't  help  it,  Bob,  I've  lived  so  long  in  a  sea  of 
doubt.  But,  I  want  to  tell  you  this,  if  I  must  marry, 
I  am  rather  glad  it  is  you,  for  I  know  Margaret  will 
be  pleased." 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  said  tlie  doctor,  gently  placing  his 
ams  around  her. 

"Because  you  persist  in  retaining  Hannah  Thomp- 
son in  your  employ?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  can't  see  how  that  can  be  remedied.  I  con- 
sider Margaret's  attitude  in  that  particular  instance 
decidedly  unreasonaWe  and  tmfair." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  agreed  the  doctor.  "However, 
Ik>rothy,  when  you  are  my  wife,  you  will  understand 
and  appreciate  very  much  better  than  you  do  now  why 
it  is  impossible  for  anything  like  fairness  to  exist 
within  her." 


Doctor  R9SS  Kttps  His  Appomtment  315 


"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Bob,"  said  she,  "I  can  hardly 
t)elieve  she  is  at  bad  as  all  that" 

"No?  WeU,  perhaps,  after  you  have  imparted  your 
news  to  her,  her  attitude  toward  you  may  cause  you 
to  alter  your  opinion." 

"Why,  I  don't  understand  you,  Bob!"  exclaimed 
Dorothy,  surprisedly,  "for  our  marriage  is  the  very 
thing  she  has  been  trying  so  long  to  bring  about" 

"Ah!  but  that  was  before  she  decided  to  cart  me 
out,"  said  the  doctor,  smiling  enigmatically. 

"I  see,  and  if  I  marry  you  she  will  cast  me  out  ?" 

"Yes ;  but  don't  permit  that  to  cause  you  any  anxiety, 
for  it  will  end,  unfortunately  for  her,  in  the  oWitcra- 
tion  of  hersdf ." 

"PoOT  Margaret,"  said  Dorothy,  sorrowfully,  "I  am 
not  willing  to  believe  that  such  an  unh^py  fate  awaits 
her." 

"But  it  does,"  said  the  doctor  decisively,  "and,  like- 
wise, to  all  they  who  cast  me  out" 

"Anyway,"  said  Dorothy,  sadly,  "I  shall  go  over 
and  bid  her  goodby  tomorrow  morning." 

"Yes,  I  should  do  that,"  advised  the  doctor.  "But 
now  I  must  be  off.  Can  you  be  ready  by  four  o'clock 
tomorrow  afternoon,  Dorothy?" 

"You  mean  to  be  married  thenr 

"Yes." 


ai6  The  Success  of  Faihtre 

"I  suppose  if  it  has  to  be,  it  might  as  weU  be  then 
as  any  other  time.   Yes,  I'll  be  ready." 

"All  right,  I'll  be  here  about  fifteen  minutes  before 
four,"  said  the  doctor,  and  he  picked  up  his  coat  from 
the  back  of  a  chair  and  thrust  his  hands  into  its 
sleeves.  "It  is  useless,  now,  to  tell  you  how  happy  I 
shall  make  you,"  said  he,  as  he  took  his  hat  from  the 
table,  "but  you  will  see,"  and  bending  over  he  toudied 
Dorothy's  forehead  lightly  wiA  his  lips. 

"It  will  not  be  because  you  do  not  try,  I  know  that," 
said  she,  as  she  turned  and  followed  him  to  the  door. 

"I  shall  not  only  try,  but  I  shall  succeed,"  said  he, 
opening  the  door  and  stepping  into  the  hall.  "Gooby, 
Dorothy." 

"Goodby,  Bob,"  said  she,  and  he  hurried  through 
the  hall  and  down  the  stairs,  and  Dorothy,  suddenly 
feeling  weak  and  old,  closed  the  door  and  went  back 
to  her  ro(»n  to  think. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


DOROTHY  BIDS  DOCT(»  AND  MSS.  OOBDON  FAIBWKLL 

THE  next  morning,  in  the  middle  of  the  forenoon, 
found  Dorothy  ascending  the  brown-stone  steps 
leading  to  the  handsome  dweUing  belonging  to  Doctor 
and  Mrs.  Gordcm.  In  reqxmse  to  her  ring  of  the  bell, 
the  door  was  opened  by  a  neatly  attired  maid. 

"Good-momiiq^,  Sarah,"  said  Dorothy,  "is  Mrs. 
'     on  in?" 

.  is,  ma'am,"  replied  Sarah,  her  pleasant  face 
lighting  up  witii  a  smile  as  she  stepped  to  one 
of  the  doorway  to  permit  Dorothy  to  enter.  Thai 
closing  the  door,  she  led  the  way  to  a  room  on  one 
side  of  the  hall,  where,  at  a  desk,  sat  Mrs.  Gordon 
busily  eng,.ged  in  answering  the  morning's  mail. 
"Miss  Richardscm,  ma'am,**  annotmced  Sarah. 
"Well,  of  all  things,  Dorothy,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon, 
quickly  raising  her  head,  "what  brings  you  over  this 
morning?"    Then  she  called  after  the  maid,  whose 
receding  steps  could  be  heard  in  the  hall,  "Sarah,  Miss 
Richardson  will  be  here  itxt  hrndteon.** 
"Very  well,  ma'am,**  answered  bade  Sarah. 

9VJ 


3l8 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"Sit  over  there,  Dorothy,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  motion- 
ing with  her  hand  to  a  rocking-chair  a  short  distance 
from  where  she  sat,  "and  III  soon  be  throagh.  Ill 
just  finish  this  letter,"  tapping  with  her  finger  a  sheet 
of  paper  !>  ing  in  front  of  her ;  "'the  others  can  wait." 

"Yes.  don't  let  me  disturb  you,"  said  Dorothy,  sit- 
ting down.  "I  can  wait  till  you  arc  through,"  and  she 
proceeded  to  remove  her  hat  and  coat,  laying  thein  on 
a  chair  close  by. 

"You  don't  appear  to  be  in  as  good  spirits  as  usual. 
Dorothy,"  remarked  Mrs.  Gordon  as  she  resumed  her 

writing.  . 
"No?"  replied  Dorothy,  leaning  back  m  her  chair 

and  jT^zing  meditatively  at  the  wall. 

"Well,  now,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  after  a  silence  of 
three  or  four  minutes,  "this  is  finished  and  I  am 
through  for  the  present,"  and  laying  down  her  pen 
she  blotted  the  newly  written  tetter.  "The  others  ni 
attend  to  this  afternoon,"  added  she,  smiling  over  at 
Dorothy  as  she  folded  up  the  letter  and  inserted  it  in 
its  addressed  envelope  and  tossed  it  to  the  rear  of  her 
desk,  where  it  lav  quiverinfif  among  several  others. 

"It's  nothing  serious,  is  it.  Dorothy,  that  has  brought 
you  over?"  asked  she,  rising  from  her  chair  and  walk- 
ing leisurely  over  to  where  Dorothy  sat. 

"That  ali  depends  upon  what  you  would  consider 
serious.  Margaret,"  replied  Dorothy,  lifting  her  face 


D&rothy  Bids  Fttnwta 


to  receive  Mrs.  Gordon's  kiss.  "Bob  does  not  think 
so,  but  you  may.  He  and  I  are  to  be  married  this  after- 
noon at  four  o*6oik.** 

"What !"  almost  screamed  Mrs.  Gordon  incredulous- 
ly, stepping  back  and  her  face  darkening.  "That  is 
not  possible?" 

"But  it  is,  Margaret,  quite  possible,"  replied  Dor- 
othy, smfling  feebly.  **Sit  down,  and  I  wiU  teU  you  all 
about  it.  But,  first,  tell  me  why  it  is  impossible?  Is 
not  this  the  very  thii^  y<M»  have  been  urging  me  to 
do?" 

"It  is,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  frowning  perplexedly, 
"but  that  was  before  the  Hannah  Thompson  affair," 
and  sl»  stooped  down  and  removed  Dorothy's  hat 
and  coat  from  the  cha"  to  the  foot  of  the  couch. 
"Since  then,  I  have  considt  ed  such  a  union  totally 
out  of  the  question,"  and,  pulling  the  chair  fcH^rd 
a  little,  she  sat  down.  "What  induced  you  to  consent 
to  it  ?  Your  work,  I  understood,  (Hrohibited  all  thought 
of  such  a  thing." 

"Until  very  recently  I  believed  so,  too,  Margaret; 
but  now  I  utt  reluctantly  compdkd  to  ccmchute  iSaaX 
perhaps  its  well-being  and  continuance  is  solely  de- 
pendent upon  it." 

"What  caused  you  to  arrive  at  such  a  conclusion  ?" 

"My  many  difficulties,"  answered  Dorothy  wearily. 
"Instead  of  diminishing,  as  J  beUcved  they  would,  they 


The  Success  of  failure 


have  steadily  increaied.  Imked,"  helplessly,  "tiiey 
have  grown  to  such  proportions,  they  are,  at  Ae  pres- 
ent time,  beyond  niy  control." 

"And  you  are  foolish  enough  to  believe  that  this 
union  wUl  enable  you  to  control  tiiem,*'  said  Mrs. 
Gordon,  surpr'sedly. 

"I  cannot  say  positively  it  will,  I  can  only  hope  so." 

"Something  more  sub?tatitial  than  hope  is  neces- 
sary, Dorothy,  for  the  happy  constunmation  of  such 

*  H 

a  nuumai^. 

"Perhaps  so,"  replied  Dorothy  dolefully;  "yet  it  is 
better  to  begin  with  that  than  nothing." 

"Why  begin  at  all  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Gordon  with  a  grim 
nnile. 

"Because  diere  does  not  appear  to  be  any  dhor 

way." 

"In  other  words,  it  is  your  last  chance." 

"You  may  put  it  that  way,  if  yoi'  like,"  replied 
Dorothy,  smiling  weakly,  "but  that  is  jtist  it." 

"Even  so,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  imfntioitly,  "I  can  t 
see  that  that  is  any  reason  for  your  marrying.  You 
are  not  the  only  one  who  has  lived  to  see  the  end  of 
theiv  day  without  the  aid  of  matrimony." 

"But  diat's  just  it,"  said  Dorothy,  aroused  Iran 
her  apathy,  "I  don't  want  to  see  the  end  of  my  day. 
I  am  entering  into  matrimony  ior  the  preservation 
of  it." 


Dorothy  Bids  Farewell 


"For  the  preservation  of  it,"  repeated  Mrs.  Gordon, 
puzzled.  "Do  you  expect  tc  live  always?" 

"I  do  not  know  that  I  expect  to,"  replied  Dorothy 
slowly ;  "but  I  do  know  there  is  nothing  I  so  mnch  de- 
sire as  to  live  always." 

'  And  this  contemplated  union,  you  believe,  makes 
that  possible?" 

"It  offers  the  prospect  and,  just  now,  I  ask  no 
more." 

"It  will  prove  too  great  an  assimilation,  I  am  afraid 
you  will  find,  Dorothy,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  dubiously 
shaking  her  head,  "and  you  will  have  little  voice  in 
the  many  ^ii^s  which  govern  your  life.  For  your 
own  good,  I  atoof^y  advise  you  to  recmuiiter  your 
decision." 

"I  have,  Margaret.  I  have  considered  and  recon- 
sidered until  I  am  heart-sick  and  weary,  but  I  can 
see  no  other  way.  A  vdce,  which  will  not  be  stilled, 
keeps  saying  in  answer  to  my  many  questicms :  'This 
is  the  way,  walk  ye  in  it.'  " 

"Nonsense,"  crossly  replied  Mrs.  Gordon.  "You 
are  simply  weak,  that  is  all,  and  cannot  withstand  the 
greater  infitience." 

"D<m't  be  cross,  Margaret,"  pleaded  Dorothy.  "I 
am  sure  you  would  not  if  you  understood  the  situation 
better." 

"Perhaps  not,  but  it  ^)esn't  make  me  fed  any  too 


222 


The  Success  of  Failure 


^ood-natured  to  know  I  am  going  to  lose  you,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Gordon  irritably. 

"Surely,  that  is  not  necessary." 

"You  forget  at  four  o'clock  this  aftemowi  you  and 
Bob  are  to  becwne  <me,"  reminded  Mrs.  Gordon. 

"What  difference  does  that  make?"  asked  Dorothy, 
her  eyes  opening  wide. 

"All  the  difference  in  the  world,"  replied  Mrs. 
Gordon,  sadly.  "After  that,  your  foes  will  be  his 
and  his  yours.  It  no  longer  will  be  I,  but  we;  not 
mine,  but  ours." 

"What  of  that  ?  Surely  a  reconciliation  between  you 
and  Bob  is  not  impossible.  Why  not  let  this  union 
be  the  means  of  bringing  it  about?" 

"I  wish  it  might,  but  there  is  only  one  conditioB 
which  could  make  that  possible." 

"The  discharging  of  Hannah  Thompson?" 

"Yes." 

"But,  Margaret,  think  how  cn^l  and  unfair  that 
would  be.  Bob  would  not  be  true  to  htmsdf  if  he  could 

do  such  a  thing." 

"Perhaps  not,  but  he  would  be  true  to  me." 

"And  false  to  himself,"  replied  Dorothy  with  a  faint 
smile.  "I  cant  imagine  Bob  ever  beuig  tliat*' 

"Which  will  make  him  very  uncomfortable  to  Uv« 
with,  I  am  of  the  opinion.  Dorothy." 

"Poor  Margaret."  said  Dorothy,  bending  forward 


Dorothy  Bids  Farewell 


223 


and  laying  her  hr  ad  upon  one  of  Mrs.  Gordon's,  "you 
do  not  understan  .." 

"Don't  I?  Welj  \\ell  see.  Anyway,  I  advise  you 
to  keep  your  sympathy  for  >ourself ;  you  will  need  it, 
Dorothy,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  witii  a  smile  whidi,  Dor- 
othy thought,  made  her  handsome  face  for  the  mo- 
ment positively  ugly.  "I  will  endeavor  to  live  without 
either  of  you." 

"Am  I  to  conclude,  then,  that  in  the  casting  out  of 
Bob,  you  also  cast  me  cmt?"  adced  Dorothy,  her  lips 
trembling. 

"You  will  soon  be  one,  will  you  not,  Dorothy  r 

"Yes." 

"That,  then,  answers  your  question,"  replied  Mrs. 
Gordon,  rising  and  pushing  back  her  chair.  "How- 
ever. I  should  be  glad,  Dorothy,  if  you  would  stay 
and  take  luncheon  with  me;  it  will  be,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  for  the  last  time.  Here  is  Douglas.  He  will,  I 
know,  be  interested  in  your  news." 

"Well,  well,  Dorothy,  how-do-you-do?"  said  Doctor 
Gordon,  smilii^,  as  he  came  into  the  room,  "'  /hat 
fortunate  circumstance  is  responsible  for  your  pres- 
ence here  this  morning?"  and  he  crossed  the  room 
quickly  and  took  the  hand  she  extended.  "Feeling 
pretty  well?"  asked  he,  as  he  rdeased  her  hand. 


224 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"Nothing  to  boast  of,  Douglas,"  refiied  she,  suiil- 
ingly  lodcing  up  at  him  as  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair. 

"Sit  down,  Douglas,"  commanded  Mrs.  Gordon. 
"Dorothy  has  some  interesting  news  for  you." 

"Have  you,  Dorothy?"  inquired  the  doctor,  seating 
himself  in  the  chair  Mrs.  Gordon  had  just  vacated. 
"Something  good,  I  suppose  ?" 

A  &int  cdor  came  into  Dorothy's  cheeks  and  ^read 
over  her  face,  and  she  b^n  to  feel  decidedly  unctmi- 
fortable  tmder  the  scrutiny  of  the  doctor's  kindly 
blue  eyes. 

"Tell  him.  Dorothy,"  said  Afrs.  Gordon,  moving 
slowly  toward  the  door,  "and  let  him  decide,"  her  keen 
eyes  noting  with  no  little  inward  degree  of  satisfaction 
Dorothy's  increasing  discomfiture.  "I'll  have  to  ask 
you  to  excuse  me,  however,"  added  she,  "while  I  make 
a  trip  to  the  dining-room  to  see  how  far  luncheon  has 
progressed  in  its  preparation." 

"What  is  it,  Eterothy?"  asked  the  doctor  as  Mrs. 
Gordon  stepped  tiirough  the  doorway  and  descoided 
a  long  flight  of  stairs. 

"Something  of  which  I  think  you  will  approve," 
replied  she.  "Bob  and  I  are  to  be  married  at  four 
o'clock  this  afternoon." 

"To  be  married  at  four  o'clock  this  afternoon !"  re- 


Dorothy  Bids  ForewtU 


335 


peated  Docto  Gordon,  very  much  surprised.  "Why, 
Dorothy,  I  thought  your  work  prohibited  you  from 
even  contemplating  such  a  thing.  How  did  tiiis  change 
of  mind  comt  about  ?  Sturdy,  you  did  not  p«init  your- 
self to  be  over-persuaded?" 

"No,  I  can't  say  that  I  did,"  refuted  die,  regarding 
Doctor  Gordon  with  a  pair  of  very  grave  eyes.  "To 
my  mind  it  is  the  culmination  of  many  disquieting 
facts." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that.  Dorothy?"  asked  Hit 
doctor,  kMldi^  puzzled. 
"This,"  rqdied  Don^y,  her  voice  tremUing:  "to 

my  sorrow  and  regret,  I  have  failed  to  fulfill  the  pur- 
pose and  boast  of  my  life ;  that  is,  to  establish  a  'hOTie- 
living  j'ace'  for  the  children  of  men." 

"How  is  that,  Dorothy?"  queried  the  doctor.  "I 
understood  you  were  making  it  more  or  less  of  a 
success." 

"Your  understanding  is  at  fault,  I  am  afraid,  Doug^ 
las,"  said  Dorothy,  with  a  sad  shake  of  her  head,  "for 
it  is  less  of  a  success,  by  far,  than  I  hoped  it  would  be." 

"Indeed !  Well,  well,  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,  Dor- 
othy," replied  the  doctor  sympatiietically.  "But  don't 
you  tiiink  you  are  a  trifle  pessimistic,  prol^bly  owing 
to  your  poor  state  of  health?  What  yoa  need  is  a 


226 


The  Success  of  Failure 


tonic.  Get  your  physician  to  p.\;scribe  one  for  you. 
I  would  gladly  do  so,  as  you  know;  but  then,  you 
have  never  been  my  patient." 

"I  understand,  Douglas,"  said  Dorothy,  I  t  face 
pathetic  in  its  seriousness.  "However,  I  don't  believe 
I  can  attribute  the  state  of  affairs  to  my  poor  health ; 
in  fact,  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  my  ill-health  is  owing 
to  the  prevailing  miserable  conditicms.  And  it  is  use- 
less for  me  to  ask  my  physician  to  prescribe  a  tonic, 
for  he  has  done  so,  and  the  one  he  prescribes  is  him- 
self." 

"And  what  do  you  think  about  it,  Dorothy  ?" 

"I  am  trying  not  to  think,  Douglas,  for  what  is  the 
use  when  I  have  resolved  to  do,  trustii^  that  the 
rer..edy  prescribed  will  eventually  dissipate  and  oMit- 
erate  all  the  elements  now  at  war  ?" 

"I  see,"  said  Doctor  Gordon,  laughing,  and  his  blue 
eyes  twinkling;  "you  have  made  up  your  mind  to  be  a 
good  patient  and  take  your  medicine,  no  matter  how 
nasty  the  taste." 

"I  intend  to  be  an  obedient  patient,  Douglas,"  said 
Dorothy,  trying  to  smile ;  "and  I  shall  not  mind  the 
taste  of  the  medicine  if  it  only  effects  a  cure." 

"Which  is  problematical,  of  course,"  scid  Doctor 
Gordon.  "But,"  hopefully,  "it  may  be  possible,  after 
all." 


Dorothy  Bids  Farewell  aay 

"It  promises  to  be,  and  I  must  content  myself  with 
that  for  the  present,"  said  Dorothy,  sighing. 

"Luncheon  is  ready,  Dorothy  and  Douglas,"  called 
Mrs.  Gordon  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  "Come  right 
down." 

"We'U  be  right  down,  Margaret,"  they  called  back 
snnultaneously,  and  risii^,  the  doctor  preceding,  they 

went  downstairs. 

"You  may  sit  in  your  old  place,  Dorothv."  said  Mrs 
Hordon  when  they  entered  the  dining-room.  Then  as 
she  sat  down  at  one  end  of  the  table  and  the  doctor 
took  his  place  at  the  other,  she  tamed  to  the  maid  and 

said : 

-You  may  be  excused  for  the  present.   Stay  in  the 
kitchen  and  I  will  ring  if  I  need  you." 

"Very  well,  ma'am,"  replied  Sarah. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Dorothy's  news  ?"  Mrs  Gor- 
don asked  her  husband  when  the  maid  had  gone  and 
tlie  door  closed  behind  her. 

"Under  the  circumstances,  it  is  quite  surprising." 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Mrs.  Gordon,  her  eyes  opening 
H  uie  m  amazement.  "It  is  much  more,  I  can  aaiare 
you.  than  that  to  me." 

"Rather  s  regrettable  surprise,  I  suppose?"  inquired 
thf  doctor,  removing  with  t  fork  a  hunb  chop  from 


238 


^  The  Success  of  Fcalme 


the  platter,  which  he  phiced  upon  a  plate  and  passed 
to  Dorodiy. 

"Words  are  inadequate  to  express  just  how  I  feel 
about  it,"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon  sharply,  as  she  ar- 
ranpred  the  cups  and  proceeded  to  pour  out  the  tea. 

"Oh,"  said  the  doctor  soothingly,  putting  a  chop 
upon  another  plate  and  passing  it,  with  the  assistance 
of  Dorothy,  to  his  wife,  "it  may  not  prove  sudi  a 
terriUe  Aing  for  Doro%,  after  all.  You  are  far  too 
prone,  Margaret,  to  take  the  gray  view  of  life.  You 
should  be  more  hopeful." 

"Like  you?"  queried  Mrs.  Gordon  sneeringly. 
"Sometimes.  Douglas,  do  you  know,  I  believe  that 
optimistic  view  of  life  which  you  are  so  fond  of  taking 
and  which  you  so  readily  recommend  to  your  wife, 
of  you.  Everything,  no  matter  how  serious  it  nmy 
appear,  to  your  mind  is  all  right,  or,  at  any  rate,  will 
eventually  be  so,  if  people  would  only  train  their  minds 
to  believe  it.  It  is.  no  dotibt.  very  pleasant  to  mentalk 
your  friends  and  patients,  will,  some  day,  be  the  death 
close  the  eyes  to  the  unpleasantnesses  of  the  real  and 
existit^,  and  open  them  to  view  the  delightful  phan- 
tasies of  the  unreal  and  non-existent.  But  it  is  not 
safe.  It  is  not  possible  to  glide  through  life  in  any 
such  easy-going  fashion  without,  sooner  or  later,  meet- 


Dorothy  Bids  Farewell 


ing  the  consequences.  This  marital  arrangement  of 
Dorothy's  I  consider  positively  disastrous  to  her,  to 
you  and  to  rae." 

"That  sounds  rather  bad,  doesn't  it,  Dorothy?"  said 
Doctor  Gordon,  smiling  over  at  her.  "But  the  sound, 
I  feel  sure,  will  prove  worse  than  the  cause." 
Dorothy  forced  a  smile  as  she  said : 
"Should  this  union  result  unfortunately  for  me,  1 
hope,  with  all  my  heart,  its  consequences  may  not  touch 
either  of  you.   I  must  admit  I  am  not  entering  it  as 
willingly  as  I  wish  I  were ;  it  is  because  I  must,— I  can 
see  no  other  way.    You,  Margaret.  I  know,  would 
have  me  continue  my  struggle  with  the  ever-accumu- 
lating and  insurmountable  obstacles  rather  than  risk" 
a  change  which  might  prove,  as  you  say.  'disastrous'  in 
its  results.   Douglas,  you  are  more  hopeful.— and  you 
must  forgive  me  for  saying  what  I  am  going  to  say,— 
but  it  is  because  you  are  less  interested.  Your  dream- 
ing faith  satisfies  you,  and  you  are  skw  to  be  aroused. 
To  yen  everything  is  all  right  when  reaUy  It  is  all 
wrong.   Delightful  companion  to  many  upon  the  road 
of  life  though  you  are,  you  are  not  a  safe  one  to 
follow.  The  crier  who  cries  out.  All  is  well,'  knowing 
not  himself  that  all  is  iU,  is  not  the  one  to  heed.  When 
1  consented,  at  last,  to  Bob's  earnest  and  persistent 


230  Tfu  Success  of  Failure 

(deadii^  that  I  should  marry  him,  I  firmly  bdteved 
that  it  would  bring  about  a  recmidliaticm  between  you, 

Margaret,  and  him;  and  you,  Douglas,  could  enjoy 
again  the  companionship  of  your  old  friend.  In  this,  I 
am  pained  to  learn,  I  was  mistaken.  That  I  love  you 
both,  I  think  you  know,  and  to  break  a  friendship  of 
so  many,  many  years,  I  feel  you  cannot  fail  to  appreci- 
ate, is  c(Mting  me  dear." 

As  Dorothy  finished  speaking,  her  voice  broke  and 
she  felt  in  her  bag  for  her  handkerchief,  and,  pushii^ 
back  her  plate  from  which  she  had  made  a  pretense 
at  eating,  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  wiped  the 
tears  from  her  streaming  eyes. 

"Don't  cry,  Dorothy,"  said  the  doctor ;  "everything, 
no  doubt,  will  come  out  much  better  than  we  an- 
ticipate." 

"Let  her  alone,  Douglas,"  commanded  Mrs.  Gordon. 
**A  good  cry  will  do  her  good,"  and  the  doct<M- 

subsided. 

In  a  few  minutes  Dorothy's  sobs  ceased,  and  she 
wiped  ^  last  trace  of  her  tears  away. 
"I  didn't  mean  to  do  this,"  she  said,  making  a  pitiful 

attempt  to  smile. 

"Don't  apologize,  Dorothy ;  I  feel  very  ir  ich  the 
same  way,  myself,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon  huskily.  "How- 


Dorothy  Bids  Farnvell 


ever,  what  must  be,  must  be,  I  suppose,  and  we  ntii^ 

make  up  our  minds  to  bear  it." 

"Is  a  reconciliation  between  you  and  Bob  so  im- 
possible, then  ?"  wistfully  asked  Dorothy. 

"Undct  present  condttioiis,  Dorothy,  I  regret  to  say 
it  is  quite  impossible,"  decidedly  replied  Mrs.  Gordon. 

"Why  under  the  present  conditions,  Margaret?" 
asked  her  husband,  mystified. 

"Because  a  reconciliation  under  the  present  condi- 
tions would  mean  the  ultimate  doom  of  my  supremacy ; 
it  would  mean  the  acknowledgment  of  a  greater  force 
than  mine  and  a  willingness  to  submit  to  its  domina- 
tion." expbined  Mrs.  Gordon. 

"And  this  you  cannot  do  because  you  recognize  no 
such  force?"  queried  her  husband. 

"That  is  just  it,  exactly,"  replied  his  wife,  pushing 
her  cup  and  saucer  back  and  rising  from  the  table. 

"Bob,  I  am  sure,  would  not  insist  upon  that,"  said 
Dorothy,  as  she,  too,  rose  from  the  table. 

"Not  in  words,  perhaps,'*  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  ringintr 
the  bell  for  the  maid  and  tfien  leading  tfie  way  upstairs, 
"but  in  deeds,  yes." 

"I  think  you  are  mistaken,  Margaret,"  said  her  hus- 
band from  the  rear.  "Indeed,  I  am  sure  you  are :  for 
my  experience  with  Bob  has  proven  to  me  that  he  is 


The  Success  of  Pedlure 


a  mighty  fine  fellow.  I  don't  claim  to  understand  him, 

altogether,  but  " 

"No,  nor  no  one. else,"  tartly  interrupted  Mrs.  Gor- 
don.  "There  might  be  some  living  with  him  if  one 

could." 

"Come  now,  you  are  rather  hard  upon  the  poor 
fellow."  said  her  husband,  laughing. 

"Not  a  Wt  more  so  tfian  he  is  on  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Gordon  as  she  reached  the  top  step  and  led  tiie  way 
to  the  room  where  they  had  been  previously  sittin]?. 
"How  many  times  has  he  intimated  that  it  would  he 
agreeable  to  him  if  I  would  mind  my  own  business; 
that  my  interference  was  not  desired,  and  he  would 
be  grateful  to  me  if  I  wotdd  wait  tuitil  it  was  so- 
lid "' 

'  i-oor  Bob,"  mused  Dorothy,  taking  up  her  hat  and 
putting  it  on ;  "I  am  beginning  to  believe  our  failure 
to  appreciate  him  is  due  to  our  lade  of  understanding." 

"He  will  not  he  slow  to  improve  yours,  Dorotiiy, 
never  '  r,"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon  sarcastically,  as  her 
husbai. J  picked  up  Dorothy's  coat  from  the  couch  and 
held  it  open  for  her  to  put  her  arms  into  its  sleeves. 
"You  may  rest  assured  he  will  see  to  it  that  you  have 
every  opportunity  to  duly  appreciate  him.  I  must  say 
I  do  not  envy  you  the  experience." 

"Come  now,  Margaret."  interposed  the  doctor,  shak- 
ily his  head  rebuking^y  at  her,  "the  experience  may 


Dorothy  Bids  FartwiU 


233 


not  prove  so  altogether  unpleasant  as  you  think.  We'll 
hope  not,  anyway,"  add^  J  he  encouragingly. 

"Humk  yott,  Douglas,"  said  Dorodiy,  buttoxitng  up 
her  coat. 

"I  suppose  you  think  I  am  very  hard,  Dorothy,"  said 
Mrs.  Gordon,  placing  a  hand  upon  each  of  Dorothy's 
shoulders  and  looking  down  into  her  face  with  swim- 
ming eyes.  "If  I  ai^)ear  so,  it  is  only  because  I  feel  I 
must;  for  in  this  union  about  to  take  place  I  recog- 
nize, in  a  way  you  and  Douglas  cannot,  its  awful  signifi- 
cance. It  is  not  easy,  believe  me,  my  dear,  to  bid  good- 
by  to  an  old  friend  and  stand  quietly  by  and  watch 
her  pass  out  of  your  life,  knowing  that  her  identity 
will  soon  be  submerged  into  that  of  another,  whose 
only  desire  and  purpose  is  to  make  her  unrecognizable 
even  to  herself.  Conditions,  I  know,  must  indeed 
have  been  alarming  to  have  nrnde  you  contemplate 
such  a  stq>;  but  do  you  Aink  it  pomble  that  a  mar- 
riage brought  about  by  the  pressure  of  circumstances 
can  result  happily  ?  Would  it  not  be  wiser  to  struggle 
and  fight  with  known  conditions  than  to  permit  them 
to  force  you  into  a  life  of  which  you  know  nothing, 
and  into  which  you  admit  you  are  about  to  enter  un- 
willingly? Is  it  wise  to  exchange  a  known  present 
for  a  strange  and  untried  future?  You  have  some 
little  time  between  now  and  four  o'clock,  and  in  that 
time  I  strongly  advise  you  to  stc^  and  thiide  »id 


Tht  Succe^ii  of  Failure 


kmg  before  definitely  deciding  to  take  this  terriUy  im- 
portant and  non-retreating  step." 

"It  is  useless  to  tell  me  to  think,  Margaret."  said 
Dorothy,  with  a  hoarse  laugh,  "for,  if  thinking  alone 
were  necesnry,  I  should  not  be  here  now  about  to  bid 
you  goodby.  I  have  thought  and  thought  until  my 
brain  reels  with  thought,  but  without  a  satisfactory 
result.  Now,  come  what  n»y,"  emphatically,  "I  am 
going  to  act." 

"Very  well,  Dorothy,"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon,  remov- 
ing her  hands  and  stepping  bade  a  little;  "I  shall  not 
attempt  to  dissuade  you  further." 

"Then  I  shall  bid  you  goodby,  Margaret,"  said  Dor- 
othy, holding  out  her  hand  and  lifting  her  face  to  be 
kissed;  "and,  in  spite  of  what  you  have  said,  I  shall 
look  forward  to  a  nwetiiqf  and  a  greetii^  between  us, 
some  day." 

"Goodby,  Dorothy,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  stooping 
down  and  kissing  her ;  "you  little  guess  how  lonely  I 
am  going  to  be  widK)ut  you,"  and  a  tmx  dropped  upon 
Dorothy's  forehead. 

"Goodby,  Douglas,"  said  Dorothy,  turning  to  place 
her  hand  in  the  doctor's  outstretched  palm ;  "bright  and 
happy  friend  that  you  are,  I  shall  miss  you  sadly." 

"I  don't  tfamk  you  will,  Dorothy,**  said  Doctor  Gor- 
don, doubtfully.  "Although  I  am  regarded  by  many  as 
being  the  greater  physician,  I  know  I  am  not.  I  am 


Dorothy  Bid*  Fartwli 


335 


but  the  shadow  of  ^  tniini^  greater  phyriciaa,  aiMl 

he  it  is  with  whom  )our  life  is  to  be  united  today, 
(ioodbv,  Dorothy,  it  has  been  pleasant  to  know  you, 
but  you  will  soon  cease  to  think  or  speak  of  me.  for 
vou  will  have  found  in  your  husband  one  greater 
than  I." 

And  thus  Dorodiy  bade  fmnwt^  to  Coami^&on  and 
to  Oi^unwn. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


THE  MARSIAGE 

"I  don't  believe  you  were  ever  late  in  keeping  an 
1  appointment,  were  you,  Bob  ?"  asked  Dorothy  as 
Doctor  Ross  hdped  her  into  the  automobile  and  At 
sat  down  in  a  seat  to  the  right  of  the  open  door. 

"No;  I  have  always  taken  particular  care  to  keep 
my  engagements  promptly,"  replied  the  doctor,  step- 
ping in  behind  her,  "and,"  sitting  down  and  pulling 
the  door  shut,  "it  would  indeed  be  surprising,  would 
it  not,  if  I  failed  to  put  in  an  appearance  at  ^  ^ 
pointed  time  upon  my  wedding-day  ?" 

Dorothy  smiled  and  nodded  in  response. 

"You  may  proceed,  John,"  said  Doctor  Ross  to  the 
motionless  figure  sitting  in  front. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  replied  John,  and  the  car  b^;an  to 
make  its  way  slowly  up  ^  stre^ 

"Well,  Dorothy,"  queried  the  doctor,  taking  posses- 
sion of  her  mrnll  hands  and  holding  them  tightly, 
"does  our  prospective  marriage  still  frighten  you?" 

"I  can't  say  that  it  does;  but  to  tell  you  the  truth, 

936 


The  Marriage 


237 


Bob,  my  condition  is  such  that  I  have  neither  the  power 
to  dread  nor  fear  anything.  All  my  faculties  are  be- 
numbed and  I  feel  as  though  I  were  partly  asleep." 

"Poor  little  girl."  tenderly  said  the  doctor,  releasing 
her  hands  and  putting  his  arm  gently  around  her  and 
drawing  her  close  to  hi*  tide,  "you  have  had  a  pretty 
hard  time." 

"Yes,  indeed  I  have;  and  even  you,  Bob,  I  don't 
believe  know  how  very  hard  it  all  has  been." 

"Don't  you  believe  that,  Dorothy,  for,  I  assure  you,  I 
fully  appreciated  your  position.  Bat  bid  it  goodby  and 
leave  it  with  the  many  odier  things  of  yesterday,  for 
today  you  «iter  into  a  new  kingdom,  a  kingdom  in- 
corruptible and  without  decay." 

"I  have  often  planned  and  dreamed  of  such  a  kintr- 
dom,"  replied  Dorothy  sadly,  "but  try  as  I  would  I 
was  never  able  to  realize  it." 

"You  could  not  without  me,  dearest,"  replied  Doctor 
Ross,  pressing  her  to  him. 

"It  seems  not,"  replied  Dorothy,  making  a  feeble  ef- 
fort to  withdraw  from  his  embrace.  "But  tell  me 
something  of  this  kingdom  into  which  I  am  about  to 
enter." 

"It  is  a  kingdom,  Dorothy,"  replied  Doctor  Ross, 
with  one  of  his  rare  smiles  which  lit  up  his  usually  grave 


The  Success  of  Failure 


face  and  made  it  for  the  mmnent  astonishingly  beauti- 
ful, "where,  as  in  the  world  you  are  leaving,  men  rtap 
what  they  sow; — the  only  difference  being,  however, 
that  in  the  one  to  which  we  are  travelling  no  tares  are 
sown  and,  therefore,  the  reaping  is  a  pleasant  task; 
and,  although  his  labors  are  nany,  the  voice  of  man  is 
neve.'  heard  raised,  pleading  weariness,  hunger,  cold 
or  nakedness,  for  here  man  finds  his  rest,  his  suste- 
nance, his  warmth  and  raiment  in  his  work.  Here  man, 
without  the  thought  of  what  evil  his  brother-man  may 
do  unto  htm,  enters  into  tiie  morning  of  life.  Fearitss 
he  runs,  uncbiunted  by  the  fear  of  a  possible  foilure 
coming  to  him  on  the  morrow :  for,  for  him,  no  such 
word  exists.  Failures  Jo  not  grow  here;  man  fulfills 
the  purpose  of  his  creation  and  succeeds.  Here  " 

"What  a  womferful  khigd(»n  it  must  be !"  intermpted 
Dorotfiy  mturii^l^.  "I  wiA  I  ime  iMt  so  skeptkal." 

"Until  you  arc  torn  up  root  and  branch,  you  will 
continue  to  be  so,  Dorothy,"  replied  the  doctor,  ten- 
derly smiling  down  into  her  tired  and  care-worn  face. 
"However,  don't  despair,  for  your  tree  is  soon  to  be 
planted  in  a  decidedly  different  soil,  the  elements  of 
which  are  so  sadly  needed  for  its  perfect  growtii." 

DcHToAy  s^ihed,  diode  her  Imul  and  sadfy  smiled. 

"I  trust  it  will  not  suffer  from  the  tnuuplaatiiMr.'' 
she  said. 


The  Marriage 

"Don't  let  that  cause  you  any  uneasiness,  Dorothy- 
there  IS  no  fear  of  that.   So  beautiful  will  it  become,' 
you  wdl  be  unable  to  recognize  in  it  the  gnarled  and 
scarred  tnink,  with  its  stooped,  over-burdened  and 
yellow-leafed  laden  branches,  of  your  old  tree.  Proud- 
ly erect  will  it  stand,  flaunting  its  stout  branches  de- 
fiantly to  every  wind  that  blows,  be  they  ever  so 
destructive-seeking  in  their  tempestuousness.  And 
how  you  will  love  this  tree.  Dorothv.  f..,  it  will  rehect 
your  strei^  as  the  one  now  reflects  your  weakness 
It  will  proclaim  to  aH  the  world  in  the  song  of  the 
leaves,  as  they  sway  back  and  forth  upon  theti  tranches 
man  s  conquest  of  sdf.  as  the  <»»  now  fmxdaims  him 
her  devotee.    Its  growth  wiU  mean  the  perfection  of 
man,  rendering  all  his  worlcs  acceptable  and  worthy  of 
their  creation." 

"You  are  foretelling  a  strange  future,  Bob,"  said 
Dorothy,  gadng  dreamily  ahead,  "and  one  so  amaz- 
m-ly  different  from  aH  that  I  hare  ever  known,  that 
I  ran  liardly  believe  its  existence  possftle.  Neverthe- 
less. I  hope  it  comes  true.  Anyway,"  resignedly,  "it 
'■^  too  late,  if  it  were  of  any  use.  to  look  back." 

"That  is  true.  But  in  a  very  little  while  I  shall  have 
taken  your  future  and  made  it  mine,  and  I  shall  then 
be  responsible  fw  its  ftdfiUment.  Trust  me.  Dorothy." 


240 


Thg  Success  of  Feature 


he  pleaded,  "for  the  joys  of  the  morrow  and  for  the 
replacing  of  your  yesterday  with  a  greater  today." 

"There  is  nothing  left  for  me  to  do,  now,  but  tQ  trurt 
you,  is  there.  Bob?'  aaked  Dorotfiy  plaintively. 

"There  has  never  been  anything  else  you  could 
safely  do  but  to  trust  me,  Dorothy.  The  fact  that  you 
did  not  do  so  long  ago,  showed  a  lack  of  wisdom  which 
you  proudly  boasted  you  possessed." 

"Well,  I  boast  of  m^iti^,  now,"  replied  Dorothy 
Hstlessly.  "But  don't  talk  about  that  any  more;  tell 
me  something  more  of  this  wonderful  kingdimn  which 
is  yours  and  is  soon  to  be  mine." 

"There  is  so  much  to  tell  and  so  little  you  are  able 
to  understand,  now,  Dorothy.  I  might  tell  you  many 
things,  birt  what  wouki  be  tiie  use?  You  wouM  fail 
utterly  to  appreciate  their  beatrty  or  significance.  They 
are  the  things  of  tomorrow,  while  you,  you  must  re- 
member, are  still  a  part  of  today." 

Dorothy  moved  restlessly  in  her  seat. 

"Have  we  much  farther  to  go  before  we  arrive  at 
our  destination?"  asked  she. 

"Not  so  very  far ;  we  are  very  nearly  there.  Anxioitt 
to  have  it  over  with  ?"  the  doctor  asked  teasingly. 

"Well,  I  shall  not  be  sorry  when  it  is,"  replied  Dor- 
othy, vainly  endeavoring  to  control  the  trembling  of 
her  lifM. 


The  Marriage 


341 


"Nor  shall  I,"  replied  he.  "However,  it  isn't  going 
to  be  half  as  bad  as  you  think,"  and  he  patted  her  hand 
reassuringly. 

At  tint  instant  the  car  stopped  at  At  eirtniice  of  a 
very  narrow  road.  It  was  snffidoitly  wide  to  permit 
the  tread  of  the  human  foot,  but  forbade  all  other  con- 
veyances. Here  JcAm  got  down  from  Ins  seat  and 
opened  the  door. 

"We  get  out  here,  Dorothy,"  said  the  doctor,  rising 
to  his  feet  and  tHep^ng  to  tfw  ^lewalk. 

•Do  we?"  queried  die,  gettu^  to  her  feet  and  kxdi' 
ing  curiously  around.  "But  I  don't  see  any  churches," 
added  she  as  she  placed  her  hand  in  the  doctor's  and 
stepped  out,  and  she  glanced  anxfonsly  up  and  down 
on  both  sides  of  the  avenue. 

"They  are  not  necessary  to  our  union,"  said  the 
doctor,  taking  her  arm  a^  directing  her  steps  toward 
the  narroT?  entrance.  "We  will  ind  our  tenqrfe  at  tfie 
end  of  diis  road." 

As  they  stood  and  viewed  the  road  from  the  en- 
trance, it  seemed  to  Dorothy  that  it  extended  in  a 
straight  line  a  great,  great  distance,  but  in  reality 
it  proved  to  be  a  very,  very  short  road.  At  the  end 
of  it,  entirely  covering  the  ground  and  concealing  all 
that  lay  beyond,  Mood  a  huge  temple.  Indescr^ialdy 


The  Success  of  FaUure 


beautiful  was  this  monument  of  unsurpassca  archi- 
tecture, defying  in  its  structure  and  being  all  imita- 
tion ;  nor  was  it  possiUe  for  any  alien  sehod  to  admit 
of  its  rqnt)dttction.  Through  its  large  doOTs  passed  in 
and  out  a  great  multitude  of  men,  women  and  children. 
With  appalling  indifference  to  the  marvelous  beauty 
of  this  magnificent  edifice  they  came  and  went.  Some, 
in  their  hurry,  gave  it  barely  a  glance  as  they  stepped 
in  and  stepped  out.  Others,  moving  more  leisurdy, 
pattsed  lor  a  momaat  or  so  to  gaze  upm  it  witfi  matt 
or  less  idle  curiosity,  while  others,  lazfly  loitering 
about,  amused  themselves  with  a  show  of  seeming  in- 
terest :  but  they,  too,  finally,. wearied  of  what  to  them 
were  its  many  bewildering  intricacies,  passed  on. 

Awed  by  its  gigantic  proportions,  Dorothy  withdrew 
her  arm  from  the  doctor's  and,  stopping  abruptly  in 
the  road,  stirveyed  it  wi^  evident  tmeaskiess.  Its 
form  was  fomiliar  and,  in  a  vague  way,  it  seemed  to 
her  to  rtrangely  raemUe  tiie  rqireseirti^ioo  <^  exerting 
humanity. 

"What  an  extraordinary  building,  Bob!"  she  ex- 
claimed, stepping  to  one  side  a  little  and  regarding  it 
somewhat  fearfully. 

"Do  you  think  so,  Dorothy  V 

"Indeed  I  dot  Don't  you?" 


The  Marriage 


243 


I  can't  say  that  I  do,"  replied  the  doctor,  smiling. 
'  But  then,  that  may  be  because  it  has  always  been  my 
place  of  worship.  You  see,  I  know  no  other  temple 
but  this." 

"And  yet  you  have  never  brooglit  me  here  before?" 
"It  was  not  my  fatilt;  you  know  I  could  not  prevail 

upon  you  to  come,  Dorothy." 
"You  never  asked  me." 
'  Oh,  yes,  I  have." 
"I  don't  remember." 

"But  I  have.  Not  only  have  I  asked  you,  but  I  have 
pleaded  with  you  to  worship  with  me  in  my  temple. 
You  preferred  your  own,  ytnat  temples  of  brick  and 
stone,  and  yott  found  that  these,  too,  had  their  Hmi- 

tations." 

"And  has  not  this,  also,  its  limitations  ?" 

"When  united  to  me,  no,"  replied  the  doctor,  his  face 
shining.  "As  it  is  impossible  to  render  a  perfect 
service  witiiout  me,  so  also  it  is  impossible  to  truly 
worship  in  this  temple  without  ne.  To  worship  with 
me,  here,  Dorothy,  we  must  be  united ;  old  diii^  must 
pass  away  and  all  things  become  new.  But  come,  they 
are  waiting."  and  the  doctor  once  more  placed  his  arm 
witfiin  Dorothy's. 

*Who  are  waiting?"  asked  Dorothy,  reluctantly  per- 


The  Success  of  Failure 


mitdng  htm  to  lead  her  toward  tiie  tsAxtsax  of  fine 
temple. 

"The  forces  which  are  to  make  us  one,"  replied  the 
doctor,  releasing  her  arm  and  pushing  open  &e  doon 
to  permit  tiiem  to  enter. 

Side  hy  side,  up  the  long  aisle  they  went  until  they 
reached  the  chancel-rail,  where  they  stopped  and  stood 
perfectly  still,  listening  to  the  murmuring  of  the  many 
riotous  voices  that  filled  the  air  about  them.  Then  a 
voice  which  silenced  all  the  others  fflled  Ae  mighty 
temple.  It  was  like  the  roar  of  the  raging  sea  and  of 
the  driving  wind.  Loudly  it  thundered  forth  its  com- 
mands, and  Dorothy  listened  and  trembled;  with  au- 
thority it  made  its  mandates  known,  and,  as  peal  alter 
pea!  rang  oat,  her  courage  and  strength  desorted  Iwr. 
Tmming,  she  put  out  two  unsteady  hands  and  clung, 
weak  and  drooping,  to  Doctor  Ross  and  hid  her  face 
upon  his  breast.  Thus  she  stood,  repeating  feebly, 
after  that  awful  voice,  tiie  words  whidi  were  to  nake 
them  one. 

At  last  it  was  all  over  and  silence  once  more  reigned 
within  the  temple.  With  a  sigh  of  relief.  Dorothy 
made  a  weak  attempt  to  lift  her  head ;  but  in  vain,  for 
with  a  dittddering  groan,  which  shodc  her  from  head 
to  foot,  ^e  shipped  a  lifden  heap  to  the  floor. 

Although  dead  to  all  that  was  without,  Dorothy  was 
keenly  alive  to  the  growing  disturbances  that  were 


7A#  Morriagg 


within.    A  war,  over  which  she  had  no  control,  was 
being  waged;  the  members  of  her  body  were  arrayed 
against  each  otiier.  It  was  a  strife  between  tlie  new 
and  the  old,  between  youth  and  dd  age.  And  what  a 
strife !  How  they  struggled  for  supronacy !  The  oid, 
in  their  determination  not  to  make  way  for  the  new, 
battled  fiercely  with  their  adversaries.    Not  willingly 
would  they  surrender  her  to  their  opponents.   In  fact, 
they  stubbornly  decreed  titere  should  be  no  surrender ; 
they  would  retain  what  th^  had  or  die  in  tlM  losing. 
The  new,  no  less  unyielding,  fought  their  fon  valiant- 
ly, holding  determinedly  every  bit  of  ground  gained. 
On  and  on  they  pressed,  forcing  back,  step  by  step, 
the  old,  who,  in  spite  of  age  and  worn-out  and  much- 
used  weapons,  fought  bravely.   They  were,  however, 
no  matdh  lor  tiie  new,  and  their  boasted  strength  was 
a  weak  thhig  when  directed  agasast  that  of  the  enemy ; 
and  their  imfdements  of  war  were  as  die  toys  of  chil- 
dren when  used  in  combat  with  the  up-to-date  ones 
of  the  new.   Bravely  they  tried  to  hold  their  ground, 
but  in  vain.    Back  and  back  they  are  pressed  until 
there  is  no  longer  any  standing  room.  Vanquished 
at  last  are  they,  and  prisoners  of  war  must  they  be- 
come. The  new  are  now  m  possessicm  of  die  fidd  and, 
after  due  deliberation,  sentence  the  old  to  confinemem 


246 


Thf  Success  of  Failure 


in  the  historical  structures  of  the  past,  their  liberation 
being  wholly  dependent  upon  the  inttruction  they  may 
afford  to  coming  humanity. 

That  her  life  was  dependent  tipoa  tiie  change 
throngfa  which  she  was  going,  Dorothy  was  vaguely 
conscious ;  and  when  she  opened  her  eyes  it  was  with 
the  realization  that  she  had  been  born  anew,  and  her 
spirit  rejoiced  at  the  newness  and  fitness  of  things. 
And  the  face  that  was  bending  over  her  in  tender 
sdtcitttde  was  no  longer  the  face  of  a  stranger,  for 
idle  realized  it  as  belonging  to  that  of  an  old  but 
untried  friend.  It  was  the  face  of  the  Great  Father 
of  Service.  As  she  gazed  into  that  all-inspiring  face, 
fully  alive  at  last  to  its  wonderful  beauty,  she  knew— 
and  the  knowledge  filled  her  with  unutterable  gladness 
—that  the  veil  that  had  obscured  it  from  her  vision 
for  ages  was  rent  in  twain  forever.  Her  whole  being 
rang  with  the  song  that  had  been  shut  up  in  her  heart 
for  untold  years —  Stich  a  joyous  song  it  was,  dtvtndy 
composed,  so  sweet  and  tender,  and  yet  withal  so 
stToag. 

"Come,  my  child,"  said  the  melodious  voice  of  the 
Father  of  Service,  smiling  and  extending  his  hand  to 
assist  her  to  arise,  "for  your  husband  stands  widiout, 
patiently  awaiting  the  coming  of  his  bride." 

Without  a  word,  Dorothy  laid  her  hand  in  Us  and 


The  Mvrmgt 


247 


ubc'dicntly  arose  and  accompanied  him  to  the  door  of 
the  temple.  At  the  threshold  stood  her  husband,  who, 
at  their  approadi,  smiled  and  extended  his  hands. 

"Lov«/'  said  the  Father  of  Service,  addres^  Doc- 
tor Ross,  "I  give  into  your  keeping  my  child,  Service." 
and  taking  the  hands  of  Dorothy  he  placed  them  in 
the  outstretched  hands  of  her  husband.  "She  will  be 
to  you  a  faithful,  true  and  obedient  wife,  will  you  not, 
my  daughter?" 

**I  wifl,**  earnestly  replied  Dorothy. 

"And  you.  Love,**  eoottinied  the  Father  of  Service, 
enfok&v  them  bodi  in  lus  gigantic  arms,  "will  be  unto 
her  a  husband  indeed.  To  no  other  could  I  so  safely, 
so  utterly  and  so  happily  confide  her,  for  in  you  only  is 
her  abiding  place.  No  longer  will  she  be  storm-tossed 
and  tempest-driven,  for  you  will  be  to  her  a  pilot  of 
ways,  a  leader  of  the  paths  wherein  to  dwell.  As  a 
wedding-gift,  I  present  yon  with  my  mantte,"  and,  re- 
movfa^  hk  arms,  ht  tack  from  his  dbot^ors  a  mantie 
of  azure  Uoe,  trimmed  with  a  soft,  transparent  ma- 
terial of  pure  white.  This  he  placed  about  them. 

"This  mantle  is  indestructible  and  w'li  !ast  to  the  end 
of  time,"  he  said.  "Now  go  forth  into  the  world  and 
give  unto  it  the  fruit  of  your  perfect  union,  that  n»n- 
kind  may  eat  and  'iv  i." 


The  Success  of  Fcdhtre 


Thm  Love  and  Service,  wiA  arms  entwined,  passed 
on  and  out  into  the  world  to  fulfill  their  great  mission. 
There  will  be  no  more  stumbling  for  Service,  for  Love 
will  ever  be  a  light  unto  her  feet.  No  foago'  wItt  Ae 
proh^tt  Love  from  taldBir  Ws  place  »  Ae  affairs  of 
men,  for  now  she  recognizes  her  great  need  of  him. 
There  will  !K)  more  shadowy  daylight,  but  a  perfect 
day ;  no  more  hcpuig  to  end  in  idle  dreaming,  lo  seem- 
ing without  d,  mt  aaing,  but  a  fcwe  id  filt  tad  a  pet  fact 


mMnm  xix 


■AllKAH  LEiBHf*  Oi  TM  DOCT  r's  MAUIAGE 

fBSM  Bi^a>b  arrived  >t  the  office  the  morning 


YY  fdlow  g  tf^i"  j^m^  Dorothy  and  Doctor 
Ros-  (     we  sha.i  cc»f       to    al  them)  became  oi 

she  four  J  the  doctor  ,  4y  ^,  bu?  ly  engaged  i- 
the  per^  oi  *e  aiafr 

<^  oHered. 

"G*-*"  lOfp'  docto  1, "  replied  she,  hurriedly  n- 
iutto  !^  acr  T  as  she,  with  quickened  step,  cross  d 
the  ro<»n  mi  ^ngtiscd  Ae  dowr  leadii^  into  her  dRfe. 
In  a  iMrwoiMali  ilM  came  Ottt  rcti^  for  work. 

'It  iIb  flssi  oMMHi^^  tme  Ait  mornkig,  doE^  ^ 
si  ask-^d. 

"No  exp     it  w  ill  be  from  now  on,"  he 

plied,  "        4  uo  a  d  bringing  to  view  a  face  whoi 

anshj.  at  4.  Wifc  her  eyes  fixed  upon  it,  HanniA 
^  cd  w$  ^  wo^ering  awe  and  mute  amazement.  In 
&  ^bie  ^  fiiet  was  tania,  tad  yct>  bi  wroe  tsa- 
eiqpMaliie  wisr,  it  was  totally  different  in  other  re- 


250  The  Success  of  Failure 


spects.  There  was  the  same  nohility  of  expression, 
but  the  eyes  had  lost  their  look  of  sorrowful  rebuke, 
and  in  their  depths  there  glowed  an  unfathomabte  and 
tmspeakable  Joy.  The  hitlierto  drawn  and  troubled 
brow  was  smooth  and  serene,  and  the  smile  that  played 
about  the  lips  was  no  longer  sweetly  grave  and  patheti- 
cally sad,  but  was  tenderly  happy  and  wonderfully 
glad.  The  skin,  too,  had  changed  and  becwne  healthy- 
hued.  Truly,  it  was  the  face  of  a  bride-groom  rejoic- 
ing in  the  possession  of  his  bride. 

"Well,  are  you  satisfied?"  asked  he,  as  Hannah  con- 
tinued to  look  speechlessly  into  his  face.  "Are  you 
pleased  with  the  improvenie'.t?" 

"I  can't  say,  yet,"  replied  title,  without  removing 
her  eyes.  "You  see,  I  was  not.  in  any  way,  prepared 
for  the  change.  May  I  ask  what  produced  it?" 

"Certainly.    I  was  married  yesterday." 

"Married !"  exclaimed  Hannah  incredulously.  "You 
are  joking.  I  can't  believe  it." 

"Am  I  so  imposst1)le  as  aU  that?" 

"Nb,  it  is  not  that.  I  do  not  believe  there  is  a  woman 
worthy  of  you." 

"And  yet  no  wcmian  is  truly  worthy  without  me," 
said  he,  smiling. 

"No?"  queried  she.  wrinkling  her  forehead  per- 
plexedly. "I  am  afraid  I  don't  quite  understand  you." 


Hannah  Learns  of  tlu  Doctor's  Marriage  251 


"That  is  because,  in  spite  of  our  pleasant  acquaint- 
anceship, you  have  made  no  real  effort  to  know  me." 

"I  can't  think  that  that  is  my  fault,'*  she  replied 
thoughtfully.  "Your  aluj«fethcr  loveliness  of  char- 
acter I  cannot  fail  to  admire,  but,"  sadly  shaktng  her 
head,  "I  despair  of  ever  understanding  it." 

"And  yet  my  admirable  qualities  are  not  something 
which  you  may  not  possess.  They  really  belong  to 
you  and  are  the  rightful  inheriti»ee  of  every  memb^ 
of  the  huimii  fasaSHy** 

"I  dont  know  about  that,"  replied  Hannah,  doubt- 
fully diaking  her  head ;  "for,  if  that  is  so,  why  is  hu- 
manity so  slo\  in  claiming  its  inheritance?" 

"Because  of  its  self-satisfied  ignorance,  and  it  suf- 
fers therefor  a  painful  consequence." 

"It  apparently  is  not  cognizant  of  its  cause,"  replied 
Hannah,  sitting  down  upon  a  duur  titax  die  d^ 

"And  for  that  reason  suffers  the  safltering." 

"And  is  it  not  tiirough  striving  and  suffering  that 
man  hopes  to  attafal  periectioa?"  asked  Hannah  woo- 
(Icringfly. 

"It  is ;  but  that  is  only  because  his  blindness  prohibits 
him  from  seeing  any  other  way." 

"Then,  surely,  he  is  not  to  blame  if  h«  is  ttaahle  to 
see  any  other  way,"  protested  HaamA. 


252  The  Success  of  Failure 

"He  would  not  be,  if  his  UindnMs  were  not  of  his 

own  seeking." 

"You  mean  he  could  see  if  he  would,  but  he  won't  ?" 

"That  is  just  it.  He  obstinately  shuts  his  eyes,  and 
it  is  only  the  way  of  the  suffering  that  will  make  him 
open  them.  It  is  only  by  travelmg  this  way  tfiat  ht 
can  be  induced  to  lode  for  am>dier  and  better  way." 

"Then  it  is  the  obstinacy  of  man  which  has  made  the 
way  of  suffering  possible?" 

"Yes ;  he  prefers  to  travel  the  way  of  the  blind,  and 
will  not.  willingly,  see  any  other.  Questioningly,  faltcr- 
ingly  and  widi  uncertain  tttp  he  travds  ak»^,  un- 
mindful  of  the  light  flooding  the  roadway  close  by 
him.  On,  and  on,  with  hands  outstretched  feeling  his 
way,  he  goes,  stumbling  oft  and  receiving  many  a  need- 
less bruise  and  fall.  To  avoid  die  many  pros^te 
forms  lying  in  his  path,  his  steps  are  necessarily  in- 
creased and  he  makes  but  little  headway.  Indeed," 
said  the  doctor,  mournfully  shaking  his  head,  "his 
progress  is  a  slow  and  painful  one." 

"Indeed  it  is,"  assented  Hannah,  sighing.  "Why,  oh 
why,  is  it  necosary  tor  nmn  to  kara  only  &nN^ 
painful  experiences?"  quesdooed  she,  tMag,  "and 
^ete.  even,  do  not  always  av-il." 

"That  is  true;  they  do  not.  For,  in  spite  of  mis- 
takes and  unfortunate  happenings,  he,  stubbornly  dis- 


HoHnah  Leams  of  the  Doctor's  Marriage  aS3 

regarding  the  cause,  continues  to  blindly  struggle  on 
along  the  old  pathway,  tmwilling  to  open  his  eyes  to 
the  l^it  of  day  wbkii  shines  over  him,  in  htm  and 
around  him;  and,  at  last,  unable  to  stagger  longer 
under  the  burdens  of  life  which  he  has  piled,  bit  by 
bit,  upon  his  shoulders,  he  becomes  one  more  prostrate 
form  to  fin  the  roadway,  and,  muttering  m^ntetligible 
somethings  about  a  Divine  Providence,  he  lies  there, 
not  knowing  that  he  is  a  victim  of  his  own  blindness." 

"You  are  awfully  hard  upon  poor  man,  doctor," 
said  Hannah,  smiling  sadly  and  shaking  her  head 
dolefully. 

"No.  indeed,"  denkd  the  doctor.  "I  am  aimpty 
sUting  a  fa^** 

"Is  there  no  way  to  relieve  man  of  this  terrible 
blindness  you  have  described?"  asked  Hannah. 

"There  is  but  one." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"Low.** 

"Lover  exdaimed  Hannah,  'n^,  tec  it  nothing 

in  the  world  so  blind  as  Love  P' 

"Such  an  understanding  of  Love  is  but  a  proof  of 
mans  blindness,"  said  the  doctor,  rising  from  his 
chair  and  beginning  to  walk  up  and  down  tke  room. 
"There  it  naaght  to  great  a  itrtnger  to  nnn  tlitn 
Love.** 


I 


254 


The  Success  of  Pailnre 


"What  is  this,  then,  that  humanity  calls  Love?" 

"An  exalted  self  or  one  of  tlie  emotions  of  the  in- 
stinctive animal.  In  other  words,  it  is  a  very  pow 
counterfeit  of  what  Love  retUy  is." 

"It  is  not  always  reliable,  that  is  tme,"  agreed  H«»- 
nah.  "It  passes  so  often  away  witii  yottth»  and  kaves 
to  loneliness  the  remaining  years." 

"Ah,  no !  not  Love,"  said  the  doctor,  throwing  out  his 
hands  protestingly.  "Love  is  enduring,  fattiifttl  woA 
unchanging.  No  fidde  or  ephemeral  iStaog  is  he,  here 
today  and  gone  tomorrow,  bitt  his  prescnee  is  ever  as- 
sured and  certain,  and  is  as  necessary  to  man's  exist- 
ence as  the  light  from  the  sun  or  the  air  he  breathes." 

"If  this  be  true,"  asked  Hannah,  perplexed,  "how 
is  it  possible  that  man  remains  so  ignorant  of  his 
presence?^ 

''Does  the  kwmledge  that  the  son  shinat  k  the 
heavfns  render  tiie  pa&way  of  the  blind  any  clearer?" 

"Na" 

"What  benefit,  then,  is  the  slumbering  fact  that  Love 
is  ready  and  willing  to  lead  humanity  in  the  way  of 
all-understanding,  if  it  shuts  its  eyes  and  will  not  see?" 

"But  what  of  the  consequences  ?  Surely,  if  man  can- 
not see,  he  must  lose  his  way." 

"That  is  true;  he  loses  the  way  and  beooraet  a  wan- 


Htmnah  Leams  of  the  Doctor^ s  Marriagi  255 


derer  «pon  the  earth ;  an  alien  not  only  to  his  brethren, 
hoi  ftkw  to  hniudf.** 

"An  alien  to  WbsmUT*  repeated  Hamah,  pcoded. 
"What  do  you  mean  by  tiiatr 

"Because  he  knows  not  binuell  and,  thorefore,  can- 
not know  anoiher." 

"Am  I,  then,  a  stranger  to  my  child?" 

"You  are,  if  you  know  not  yourself.  No  matter  how 
ciote  Utt  hamm  rdMkmship,  witiwot  iSat  imdimmtng 
light  oi  ton,  ttere  can  be  no  real  kaxnAedgt  oi  one's 
self  or  ano^r.  Tht  tyt»  mmt  be  opened." 

"Whether  my  eyes  are  opened  or  not,  I  do  not  know ; 
but  I  do  know  I  k)ve  my  child/'  dedmd  Hannah 
stoutly. 

"Why  do  you  love  him?" 

"Beeanae  he  is  mine." 

"And  for  no  odier  reason?" 

"Is  there  any  other  greater  reason  that  I  can  give 
you  ?  He  is  all  I  have,  my  baby,  my  little,  blind  boy !" 

"Not  any  that  you  are  capable  of  understanding  at 
present,  at  any  rate.  However,  there  is  a  greater 
rouon,  wfaich  yon  will  learn  at  tiie  years  go  by." 

1  an  very  wtSi  talMed  wWi  ^  one  I  have  givea 
you." 

"That  is  became  your  tyt»  ut  not  opemd." 


256  Th0  Succtsi  of  Faihtn 

"And  I  don't  know  as  I  want  ^^/'^'^^ 
opening  is  to  bring  a  knowledge  which  wfll  mate  Of 
my  mother-love  a  UtUe  thing." 

-Birt  it  win  not  do  that.  Instead,  you  will  com- 
prehend and  appreciate  in  its  fulness  what  a  wonder- 
fuUy  great  thing  it  is.  this  mother-love. 

"I  can't  see  how  that  can  possibly  be,  for  just  now 
it  is  great  and  big  enough  to  wann  and  brighten  every 
cold  and  dark  comer  of  my  Ufe."  ^  u  •  u.^ 

"Ah!  but  then,  it  will  not  only  warm  and  bngbten 
^  dark  cornera  of  life,  it  will  banish  them." 
"You're  a  dreamer,"  replied  Hannah,  smiling. 
"And  my  dreams  will  come  true."  and  the  words 
rang  clear  and  true,  defying  contradiction. 
"What  makes  you  think  so'" 
"Because  I  know." 
•*How  do  yott  know?" 

"Yott  would  not  understand  if  I  should  teU  you; 
therefore,  I  can  only  say,  I  do." 

"And  how  is  all  this  to  come  about?" 

"Through  my  marriage."   

"Through  your  marriage!"  reP«*«*J^~*  ^ 
credulously.  «What  h«  Aal  got  to  *>  wWi  »r 

"Everytfiing.*' 

"Idoii'ttmdentaad.  Won't  yoo  explain?" 


Hannah  Learns  of  the  Doctor's  Marriage  257 

The  doctor  stopped  in  his  walk  and  again  took  his 
seat  at  his  desk.  He  regarded  Hannah  with  a  quizzi- 
cal smile  for  several  seconds,  and  then  he  said : 

"The  union,  which  took  pl?M«  between  the  Uwty  and 
myself  yesterday,  will  bring  about  a  happy  change  in 
Ae  affairs  of  mm.  Unforttma^y,  op  to  this  time, 
they  have  been  rmre  or  less  utdiappy  and  disappoint- 
ing, owii^  to  their  many  complications  and  to  the  fact 
that  their  direction  was  the  sole  and  uninterrupted 
concern  of  my  wife,  who,  although  willing,  was  totally 
unable  to  cope  with  their  growii^  intricacies.  Foe  a 
long,  long  time  she  was  slow  to  realise  her  limitatioiis 
and  belicwd  unqnestioningly  in  her  ability  to  bring 
everything  out  right  and  all  things  would  eventually 
adjust  themselves  to  the  needs  of  man.  This  erroneous 
understanding  and  false  view  of  the  situation  at  last 
slowly  dawned  upon  her,  and  she  perceived,  to  her 
dismay  and  astonishment,  her  nanltiplying  ^kttlties. 
Even  so,  she  proudly  disdained  all  proffers  of  assist- 
ance, ^terflaaiBg  to  overcome  them  alone ;  but,  in 
spite  of  her  perseverance  and  hard  work,  she  found, 
instead  of  diminishing,  they  increased,  and  the  'home- 
living  place'  which  she  hopes  to  establish  was  not  a 

success.   It  " 

"Oh.  I  wonder  why  I  did  not  think  of  her!"  ex- 


The  Success  of  Pmktrt 


claimed  Hannah  excitedly.  "So  it  is  Miss  Dorothy 
Richardson  whom  you  have  choten  for  your  wifcr 

"Yes,"  replied  the  doctor,  with  one  of  his  attogether 
beatttifttl  stnilci;  "Miss  Dorothy  Richardson  and  I 

are  one." 

"Well,  you  are  to  be  congratulated.  She  is  such  an 
excellent  woman,  and  you— well,  I  can't  tell  you  wlM 
I  think  of  yon." 

"Yon  win  not  object,  then,  to  remain  in  our  servicer 

"No,  hideed,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  do  so." 

"Then  that  is  arranged,"  said  he,  rising.  "You  may 
begin  your  correqx>ndaice ;  the  letters  are  all  marked 
for  reply." 

"Very  well,  doctor."  replied  Hannah,  standing  up; 
and,  picking  up  the  neat  pile  of  lettm,  she  walked 
back  to  her  oAce.  The  dick  of  the  latch  and  the 
ckMing  of  the  door  leading  into  the  hall  told  her  the 
doctor  had  gone ;  and,  standing  by  her  desk,  she  tried 
to  compose  her  mind  for  the  work  that  was  before  her. 
But  this  she  found  very  difficult,  for  the  marriage 
of  the  doctor,  although  deddecBy  fortnnale,  was  so 
surprising.  She  hmd,  in  some  way,  believed  l»  would 
never  naury.  She  was  glad,  however,  for  one  things 
it  wotdd  mean  no  chMge  in  ht-r  life.  She  waa  to  re- 
main. 


Hmnak  Ltanu  of  th*  Doctor's  Maniagg  359 


Before  sitting  down  to  her  work,  she  to<^  from  a 
pocket  of  her  coat  a  letter  that  she  had  received  that 
momii^  frrni  her  hlAim  mid  nnodier.  She  opened  it 

and  for  the  second  time  read  it  carefully,  and  then 
slowly  folded  it  and  put  it  back  in  her  pocket.  Very 
thoughtfully  she  sat  down  upon  her  chair  in  frcmt  of 
her  desk. 

"Poor  little  Ronald,"  lud  she,  softly  talking  to  her- 
sdf,  whik  a  trader  smite  played  alioirt  her  lipt,  '^do 
they  think,  no  mattO'  horn  great  Hit  iaifaoemeftt  of- 
fered, 7  would  part  with  you?  Is  there  aught,  rather, 
I  would  not  give  up  for  you,  and  find  my  joy  and  de- 
light in  the  giving?  What  would  father,  mother,  or 
home  be  to  me  without  you,  my  little,  blind,  baby-boy  ? 
They  qwak  of  the  disgrace  your  presence  would  iMrii^ 
to  tfiem  in  iSuk  dd  1^  and  adc  me  to  ^ue  ym  kk 
other  hands  than  mine,  and  then  go  home  to  them. 
How  am  tbey  mtggait  such  a  thing,  when  to  do  so 
would  mean  your  cver>'  essential  deprivation?  They 
do  not  hesitate  to  recommend  that  I  place  upon  your 
tiny  head,  lioney-l>->v.  the  consequente  of  my  wrong- 
doing, making  you  pay  the  price  of  what  they  deem 
my  disgrace  and  sh«ne.  Never  mind,  Iktie  man, 
mother  counts  fte  <hawie  and  ^K^iffrace  at  nat^[tft 
the  pteasnre  of  hnvii^  yon.  What  cares  die  for  iH^* 


Thi  Success  of  FaSmfi 


grace  as  long  as  it  never  touches  you?  and  it  never 
will,  if  she  can  help  it.  Sometimes,  molher  i»  giad 
you  are  blind,  son;  she  can  hold  you  the  longer  and 
tighter.  Nevertheless,  dear,  innocent  little  chap, 
mother  will  never  go  home  alone ;  when  she  goes,  you 
will  go  with  her.  Nay,  nay,  little  son,  our  four-room 
apartment  will  be  all  the  home  mother  win  ever  want, 
if  to  get  it  she  hat  to  part  with  you—  But  Aere,  Ae 
tears  are  falling,  and  that  will  never  do ;  for  there  are 
a  lot  of  letters  in  front  of  mother  which  she  must 
answer  and  see  that  they  are  mailed.  So,  baby-mine, 
mother  must  stop  thinking  about  vou  for  a  little  while 
and  get  to  work."  And,  wiping  her  eyes  with  her 
handkerchief,  Hannah  opoied  her  dedc 

At  twelve  o'doek  ^  letters  were  alt  answered  and 
she  placed  them  upon  the  doctor's  desk.  Then  she 
adjusted  her  cap  and  smoothed  her  hair  and  was  about 
to  wash  her  hands  when  the  door  opened  and  Dorothy, 
accompanied  by  her  husband,  came  into  the  room. 

"Good-morning,  Miss  Thompson,"  said  DoroAy, 
walking  leisurely  over  to  where  Hannah  smOini^ 
stood,  and  extended  Iwr  luuid. 

"Good-morning,  M— **  replied  Hannah  hesitatingly, 
her  hand  resting  for  an  instant  in  Dorodiy's.  "How 
are  you  this  morning?" 


HMmh  Ltarns  0/  thg  Doctor  s  Morriagt  j6l 

"Very  wen.  Aadyour 

"I  can't  conf^tain." 

"Well,"  after  an  embarrassing  lilence  of  several  see- 

unfls.  "why  don't  you  wish  me  happiness?"  asked  Dor- 
uth,. ,  lucking  into  Hannah's  face  with  smiling  scrutiny, 
"for  your  face  expresses  only  too  surely  that  you  al- 
ready have  been  told  of  my  paasti^  from  sh^e- 
blessedness  into  matrimonial  bliss." 

"Does  it  ?"  asked  Hannah,  laughing.  "I  didn't  know 
it  was  such  a  telltale.  I  must  exercise  greater  caution, 
or  it  will  be  betraying  me  when  I  least  wish  it  to.  In 
this  instance,  however,  I  cannot  plead  ignorance,  for 
Doctor  Ross  told  me  about  the  happy  evoit  diortly 
after  I  canw  in  tilts  nxmii^." 

"Oh,  you  awful  man,"  said  Dorothy,  with  a  smile 
aiul  a  rebuking  shake  of  her  head  at  her  husband,  "to 
deprive  me  ot  the  pleasure  of  proclaiming  to  one  and 
a'l  the  greatest  event  of  my  existence." 

"You  will  have  plenty  of  time  to  do  that,  Dorotiiy," 
said  the  dkKfecM',  r^nmt^  her  ta^  "But  come,  let 
me  help  yoe  off  witii  your  coat,**  1^  rtq^i^ig  to  ha 
side  he  removed  from  her  shoulders  her  new  wedding- 
coat;  and.  when  she  had  ft  placed  the  pins  in  her  hat, 
he  took  it  from  her  and  h  both  up  upon  the  rack. 
"Now,"  after  he  had  hung  up  his  own,  "I  will  look 


a6si  Tht  Sueeeu  of  FaUurt 


over  my  letters  and  then  wc  will  make  trraagemeiM 

to  leave  here  this  afternoon." 

"And  1  will  improve  the  opportunity  to  become  bet- 
ter acquainted  with  Miss  Thompson,"  said  Dorotliy, 
estidUishiug  herself  coadottaHy  in  one  of  ^  doctor's 
big.  lettlier  ftrmchairt.  ''How  is  little  Ronald?"  asfeed 
A«,  addresnng  Hannah. 

"He  is  as  well  as  usual,"  replied  Hannah.  mo»''n a 
little  to  one  side  to  permit  the  doctor  to  reach  his 
desk. 

"And  I  tmst  that  it  as  well  at  it  it  pottible  for  him 

to  be.  But  why  not  sit  down?"  and  Dorodijr  motioned 
with  her  hand  to  the  chair  opposite. 

Hannah  smiled  and  sat  down. 

"Now  let  us  talk  about  your  little  boy,"  said  Dor- 
othy, leaning  back  in  her  chair.  "I  am  afraid  you 
•may  think  I  have  not  giwm  him  much  attetrtkxi,  bat 
I  am  asnire  you  it  reUly  was  ikA  my  fault  Yon 
see,  my  time  was  completely  taken  up  with  so  mau\ 
other  thingfs  I  deemed  of  fjreater  importance  that  the 
children  were  totally  neglected.  However."  with  a 
bright  smile,  "1  liope  now  to  become  better  acquainted 
with  them,  and  they  and  I  will  begin  to  learn  of  each 
odier.  It  it  strai^  im't  k/*  mused  ^  "diat  we 
giown-tq)  peof^  <&adain  tiie  knowle^  to  be  gaimd 


Ifmmak  Lmnu  &f  Ike  D9et9i^$  Marriage  fl^ 


by  associating  with  the  chtlil,  and  give  it  no  serious 
thought,  but  receive  it  with  more  or  less  indulgent 
amusement?" 

'*Ym,**  agreed  Hannah,  "we  art  not  apt  to  consider 
it  of  nnich  importance,  and  prefer  to  regard  the  say- 
ings and  doings  of  ildren  as  little  better  than  the 
murmuringa  and  antics  of  other  delightful  little  ani- 
mals." 

"Well,  I  want  to  learn  all  th^t  yoor  little  ion  can 
teach  flse,  for  in  tlw  ways  of  children  I  am  woeftilly 
%aorant  and  I  am  very  desirous  that  he  and  I,  at 
the  days  go  by,  shall  become  the  best  of  friends." 

"Thank  you,"  murmured  Hannah,  strivii^j  to  over- 
coim  a  growing  nenrouaness,  her^fore  whdly  un- 
known  to  her.  "I  mm  tore  he  will  appreciate  your 
fricndahipk  You  will  not  expf^-t  too  much  of  him, 
wil'  YOU?  for  you  know,  poo  Mttle  chap,  be  is  blind." 

"  \  es,  I  know,"  and  Dorothy    .  hM. 

**T%ey  are  aB  raidy  now  i^r  mg"  remariced 
the  doctor,  risuig  from  his  6uk. 

**Very  w^,  I  will  attend  to  them  at  once,"  replied 
Hannah ;  and,  getting  up  from  her  chair,  she  took  the 
letters  from  the  desk  and  disappeared  with  them  into 
her  office,  closing  the  door  gently  behind  her. 

"And  so  yoa  were  ta&xag  abotu  Hamah*s  b^," 
said  ^  doctor  to  his  wife. 


The  Success  of  Faiiitr§ 


"Yes,  isn't  it  too  bad  he  is  blind?" 
"Yes,  but  he  will  not  continue  to  be  so." 
"No?"  qtwried  Dorothy,  surprised.  "It  is  possible, 
then,  that  some      he  may  see  ?" 

"Quite." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad!  Does  his  mother  knoir?  Have 

you  told  her?" 

"All  that  she  is  capable  of  understanding  at 
{M'cscnt." 

"What  did  you  tell  her?" 

"I  told  her  under  <»rtain  coodttioiu  he  would  re- 
ceive his  sight." 

"And  what  are  they  ?" 

"Those  which  shall  come  from  our  union,  Dorothy. 
Not  only  will  they  remove  little  Ronald's  blindness, 
but  will  make  impossible  the  bltadnett  <rf  every  diOd 

bom  into  the  world." 

"Will  it.  indeed,  do  that?" 

"It  will,  indeed,"  replied  the  doctor,  seating  himself 
in  the  chair  that  Hannah  had  vacated. 

Just  then  the  bell  announcing  tiw  midday  flMd  rm^ 
clear  and  loud  from  the  foot  of  the  tynwimfnt  steps. 
The  doctor  and  his  wife  made  no  movement  to  indi- 
cate that  they  intended  to  respond  to  its  summons. 
Instead,  they  sat  quietly  talking;  and  Hannah,  whi  : 
she  cpened  die  door  of  her  cMet  a  lew  «»faw|tft  hi^ 


Hannah  Learm  of  tht  Doctor's  Maniagg 

was  surprised  to  find  them  aittiiig  there.  Whm  the 
bell  rang,  she  thought,  of  GOtme,  they  woldd  go  ri^ 

down  to  luncheon. 

"I  didn't  expect  to  find  you  here,"  she  said,  going 
to  Ae  bowl  to  waA  her  hands.  "I  thought  you  would 
be  downstairs.'^ 

"No ;  we  are  waiting  for  you,"  replied  the  4oetor. 
smilingly  raising  his  head.  "As  I  have  ceased  to  be 
a  lodger  and  ain  now  a  part  of  the  'home-living  place.' 
it  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  take  your  meals  there, 
also.  So  whUt  we  are  getting  ready  to  go  over,  put 
on  your  hat  and  coat.  Leave  everything  as  it  is,  here, 
for  I  have  instructed  John  to  take  charge." 

Haanah  hastened  to  do  his  bidding,  and  in  a  very 
few  minutes  they  were  on  their  way  to  the  "home- 
Ihriiviiiiee.'' 


CHAPTER  XX 


MBS.  THOMMON  GR8  A  GLIMPSE  OF  TBI  **mOMMi4JBmm 

place" 

"\Y/kat's  gotng  on  here?"  ased  Mrs.  ThomfMon, 


W  very  much  surprised,  of  MartiiB,  who  ad- 
mitted her  into  the  little  flat.  "Looks  very  much  as 
though  my  daughter  intended  to  move,"  gravely  re- 
garding tlie  pieces  of  furniture  and  boxes  which  occu- 
pkd  umsfy  the  entife  spKc  ci  fiat  manm  htU. 
"Yes,  ma'am,"  ref^ied  Marda,  closing  Ac  door. 
"Is  Miss  Hannah  in?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,  she's  inside,"  and  Martha  indicated  by 
a  nod  of  her  head  the  room  at  the  end  of  the  hall. 

"Very  well,  I'll  find  her,"  and  Mrs.  Thompson 
b^n  slowly  to  hmIk  her  way  down  the  crowded 
passi^feway. 

"All  right,  ma'am,"  and  Mar^  weirt  bade  to  hwr 
packing  in  the  kitihen. 

When  Mrs.  Thompson  reached  the  entrance  of  the 
room,  she  stopped  and  glanced  uneasily  at  the  bare 
floor  and  walls  and  the  furniture,  pushed  to  one  side 


Mrs.  TImmptom  C«U  a  GHm^  ^  ike  "Phut"  auf 

of  the  room,  an  ready  for  the  moviiig^van.  Hannah't 
back  was  to  her;  she  was  kaeeSiv  upon  the  floor  im 

front  of  a  trunk  in  which  she  was  packing  Ronald's 
dCihes,  which  lay  piled  up  on  a  chair  beside  her.  Her 
mother's  step  upon  the  bare  boards,  however,  caused 
har  to  turn  Ikr  head,  and  with  an  exclamation  of  de- 
^  Vnmg  to  htr  feet  and  rwM  to  meet  her. 
■tying: 

"Why,  metlMr,  wlHt  faod  wM  btm^  yoo  hut 

today?" 

"I'm  not  sure  whether  it  was  a  good  or  a  bad  wind." 
replied  her  mother,  bending  her  head  to  receive  Han- 
nah's kfaa.  **IH  tell  you  better  about  that  after  you 
have  toM  me  the  meaning  of  this,!'  and  she  indicated 
witfi  a  wave  of  her  hand  tiie  rftatuNiwtffd  room. 

"We  are  going  to  move,  mother,  afl,"  replied 
her  daughter,  stepping  back  and  gathering  up  hi  her 
arms  the  clothing  lying  on  the  chair  and  placing  it 
over  the  open  top  of  the  trunk.  "Come,  sit  here.  " 
wiping  with  her  apron  the  dust  from  the  chair,  "and 
m  ieS  jmii  an  about  It  I  won't  ask  you  to  take  off 
your  hat,  for  there  is  no  place  to  put  it  where  it  will 
be  safer  than  upon  ycmr  head." 

"Why,  I  thought  you  were  very  well  satisfied  here," 
said  hcrmother  as  she  sat  down.  "Whert  it  loaaldr 


268 


The  Success  of  Failure 


"He  is  over  with  Doctnr  and  Mrs.  Ross,"  replied 
Hannah.  kneelinjEf  down  upon  the  floor  and  resuming 
her  packing.  "You  remember,  I  tdd  you  of  his  mar- 
riagte  in  my  hst  tetter.'* 

'^es;  and  has  it  tmticd  oat  as  happily  aa  »• 

pected  ?*' 

"So  far  it  has  fulfilled  every  eiqKctation." 

"That's  encouraging.  And,  apparently,  they  do  not 
object  to  the  unforttmate  circumstances  coanttted  with 
Ronald's  birth." 

"Not  at  all.  For  them,  they  do  not  exist,  and  he  is 
only  tao  hapfiy  wfa»  pei-mUtad  to  he  intfa  them." 

"I  wish  I  migfat  have  him,"  said  Mrs.  Thompson, 
sighing  regretfully ;  "but  it  is  no  tise  thinking  of  such 
a  thing,  for  your  father  will  not  consent." 

"It's  just  as  well,  perhaps,"  replied  Hannah  thought- 
fully. 

"Perhaps  so.  But  you  have  not  told  me  anything 
<rf  yonr  propoaed  new  tocatfon.  It  it,  of  course,  more 
^xakaS^  Ham  iriM  you  have  or  ^  you  wovkl 
not  mnw  moveu. 

"Tt  is.  iaiMd.'' 

"And  ymt  ia|wniMi  they  will  be  greater,  I  sup- 
pose 

"I  can't  say  that  they  will.  You  see,  I  have  decided 


Mrs.  Thompson  Gets  a  Glimpse  of  the  "Place  '  269 

to  move  to  the  'home-living  place,'  ett«bHih«d  by  Doe> 
tor  and  Mrs.  Ross,  and  they  are  to  be  rttpoanMt 

any  expense  I  may  incur." 

"Do  you  think  that  altogether  wise  ?" 

"I  do.  In  fact  it  is  tlie  only  wise  thing  I  have  ever 
done  in  my  life.  Oh,  mother,"  said  Hannah,  laying  a 
hand  1900  ber  raollwr'a  knee  and  looking  1^  eamestiy 
into  her  fMe,  "if  you  only  knew  the  beautiful  condi- 
tions prevailing  in  their  'home-living  place/  the  tht^ 
that  would  astonish  you  the  most  would  be  that  any- 
one could  hesitate  to  become  a  part  of  it !  No  greater 
foundation  can  be  found  than  that  upon  which  it  is 
fatdlt,  tiie  imperishal^  and  everlarting  foundation  of 
Love  and  S»vice." 

"And  do  yon  think  you  win  be  happy  thete?"  adced 
her  mother,  with  a  tender  smile,  as  she  laid  her  hand 
affectionately  upon  her  daughter's  head. 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  it;  for,  if  happiness  is  to  be 
found  anywhere,  it  must  be  found  there." 

"I  idiottld  want  to  be  very  sure  of  it,  my  child,"  said 
Mrs.  Thompson,  smilii^  gravdy,  "few  the  fmxmsa 
which  lead  us  into  the  punmit  of  happmcw  are  very 
slow  of  fulfillment." 

"That  is  true,  mother,"  agreed  Hannah,  "but  T  have 
learned,  by  painful  experience,  it  is  because  we  follow 


The  Success  of  Fmlure 


the  formulating  of  our  own  selfish  promises  in  the  false 
pttrsoit  of  happmest.  Happiness,  I  have  found,  is  no 
dtiahre  thing,  now  here,  then  there,  and  then  else- 
where. She  does  not  seek  to  deceive  nor  to  betimy,  a 
thing  of  yesterday  aod  not  of  today.  Something  that 
steals  away  when  tomorrow's  here,  leaving  all  stricken, 
stark  and  drear.  No,  no,  happiness  is  ever  faithful  and 
true,  and  it  is  we  who  are  faithless,  it  is  we  who  are 
ttntme  to  ourselves  and  to  her." 

"Perhaps  you  are  r%ht,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs. 
Thompson  sighing.  "But  what  of  Martha?^ 

"She  will  go  with  me.'  Indeed,  she  belongs  there, 
for  has  she  not,  these  many  years,  lived  daily  the  life 
of  the  'home-living  place'  ?  The  conditions  which  exist 
there  will  cause  her  no  wonderment  nor  be  to  her  at 
all  strange.  She  wUl  be  perfectly  at  home  with  sur- 
roniulings  which  to  me  are  as  equally  indescribable  as 
they  are  incomprehensible.  While  I  can  admire  and 
marwi.  I  am  unable  to  fully  understand  or  appreciate 
the  working  of  the  lorctt  employed.  And  yet.  Doctor 

Ross  says  thef  art  so  simple  they  are  understood  by  the 

child." 

"Your  lack  of  understanding  is  not  surprising,  then, 
for  is  it  not  the  simple  things  of  life  which  confound 
us?"  queried  Mrs.  Thompson.  go  on  with  your 
packing." 


Mrs.  Thompson  Gets  a  Glimpse  of  the  "Place"  271 

"Before  I  do,"  said  Hannah,  rising,  "111  tell  Martha 
to  make  us  a  cup  of  tea.  It  must  be  nearly  lunch- 
time.  Is  it?"  as  Mrs.  Thompson  looked  at  her  watch. 

"Joft  twelve.'^ 

"I  tfaougfit  »/'  and  Hannah  hurried  out. 

Almost  inuMd^y  abe  was  back,  and,  as  the 
chatted  with  her  mother,  finished  packing  the  trunk, 
and  when  Martha  came  in  with  the  tea,  it  stood  dosed 

and  Kicked  and  ready  for  strapping. 

"When  we  have  finished  our  tea.  I'll  put  on  mv  hat 
and  coat  and  well  go  over  and  see  Ronald."  said  Han- 
nah  as  she  took  the  tray  from  Martha  and  set  it  upon 
the  top  of  the  tna*.  Thirt  i,  .11.  Martlia."  turning 
'.v.th  a  srrnle  to  the  waitlay  bept  >m  may  go,^ 
and,  w,th  a  nod  of  her  grixded  head,  Martlia  timd 
and  walked  out  of  the  room. 

•'Are  you  not  afraid  the  doctor  and  his  wife  may 
^^^rdjt  a.  rather  an  intrusion r  questioned  Mrs 

^^TZTC''''''  -P«-  Hannah 

"No  indeed,  they  wlB  both  be  glad  to  see  voi,  anH 
f  ''ni  very  anxious  that  you  sho^mL  1^-  ^ 

tn»k  r%ht  near  you.  so  vou  may  help  yourself.  I 


xj%  The  Success  of  FaSurc 


know  the  service  is  novel  and  not  at  all  what  you  are 
accttttomed  to,  bat  yon  will  pardon  it  in  tfiis  imtiiice.'* 
"Dont  moitkm  it,  my  diild;  I'm  oiriy  too  glad  to  ha 

with  you,"  and  Mrs.  Thompson  took  between  her  fore- 
finger  and  thumb  a  Itonp  of  siipar  and  dropped  it  into 
her  tea,  and  then  poured  sufficient  cream  from  the 
pitcher  to  color  it. 

"Then  you  won't  object  to  eating:  your  sandwich 
from  the  trunk,  also."  and  Hannah  placed  a  small  plate 
upon  wMch  was  laid  two  thinly  sliced  pieces  of  bread 
and  Imtter  encktainipr  crisp  lettuce  leaves. 

"Vo.  it*s  all  right.  Don't  bother  about  me.  TH  help 
tnyself  Now.  to  qret  back  to  Ronald,  if  you  think  it 
wise  T  should  dearly  love  to  po  over  and  see  him." 

"And  are  vou  not  anxiou*:.  after  all  T  have  told  you, 
to  see  the  doctor  and  his  wife?''  asked  Hannah  dis- 
appointedly. 

"Not  io  tmkMis  to  see  them  as  I  am  to  learn  some> 
thing  of  ^  1iome4ivingr  piace*  iAney  have  established. 
But  Aat  Is  only  becatise  vou  are  about  to  make  it  your 
home :  otheru'ise,  T  should  not  be  at  all  interested." 

"After  you  have  learned  somethine  about  it  you  may 
wish  to  make  it  vour  home."  said  Hannah,  laughing. 
"And  what  would  father  nv  about  that?" 

"He  would  never  permit  it.** 


Mn.  Thompson  Gets  a  Glimpu  of  the  "Ploce"  373 

"He  might  not  be  able  to  prmn  H,"  s«id  HuuMh 
as  she  hfted  the  teapot  from  the  tray.  "Havt  another 

cup  of  tea  and  another  sandwich  ?" 

"No,  no,  nothing  more.  If  I  am  to  see  much  of 
RooiW,  we  must  go  over  to  the  doctor's  as  soon  as 
l»«a>le,  for  I  have  to  kave  for  home  shortly  after 
three." 

"  We  will  go  right  my,"  M  Hannah,  riaing  and 
takmg  from  the  wardrobe  her  coat  and  hat.  which  she 

quickly  put  on.  "If  I  had  known  you  were  coming,  I 
wouldn't  have  had  these  things  put  in  the  hall,"  said 
the,  as  she  opened  the  door  of  the  apartment  and  pre- 
ceded her  modier  out 

"If  you  can  put  up  with  the  inconvenience,  I  am 
sure  I  should  not  object,"  replied  Mra.  Thompion,  fol- 
lowing her  daughter  down  the  staira. 

Hannah  laughed  happily,  and  her  mother's  heart 
gladdened  at  the  sound.  Ah!  if  it  rested  with  her, 
Hannah  and  her  baby  should  seek  no  other  "home- 
living  place  '  but  hers.  She  would  close  the  door  upon 
tiie  world  and  live  only  for  them.  What  cared  she 
for  money  or  position?  They  were  notl^  in  com- 
parison with  the  companionship,  of  which  they  de- 
prived her,  oi  her  daughter  and  her  child.  Gladly 
would  the  dispense  with  the  former,  if  she  could  but 


274 


The  Success  of  hauurc 


have  the  latter.  And  as  she  thought  of  her  husband, 
her  heart  hardened  toward  him.  He  had  asked  'i  r 
that  morning  before  leaving  home  to  try  and  prevail 
upon  Hannah  to  give  up  her  ch  id.  "Surely,"  he  liad 
Slid,  "diere  are  plenty  of  places  in  a  large  city  where 
a  diild  would  be  weU  ctrcd  for,  for  pty."  How  stub- 
bornly he  htd  refttsed  to  listen  to  Her  picadiags  that 
they  pem^  Hannah  to  bring  her  baby  home,  tfittnder- 
ingoutather:  '  No!  no!  Isay.no!  Doo't  speak  of 
that  again  to  me !"  Well,  she  would  never  ask  Hannah 
to  give  up  her  child,  never,  never !  If  her  father  was 
so  blind  that  he  could  not  see  that  they  were  responsible 
fw  ^r  child  and  what  yn»  hers,  she  could  and  would. 
And  when  they  climbed  the  steps  leading  into  the 
"home-living  place,"  she  did  so  with  no  feeling  of 
shrinking  from  a  disagreeable  task.  This  was  to  be  Iicr 
daughter's  home  and  the  home  of  her  child ;  and.  fur 
that  reason,  she  would  try  to  understand  and  ap{)reci- 
ate  the  forces  at  work  here.  When  they  reached  the 
top  step,  the  door  opened,  and  Doctor  Roes,  witii  hand 
extended,  stood  in  the  doorway. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Thompson,"  he 
said,  looking  smilingly  froni  Hannah  to  her  mother. 
"Come  right  in,"  and  he  took  Mrs.  Thompson's  hand 
and  gently  <faw  her  through  tlie  entrance,  along  the 


Mn.  Thompson  Gets  a  Glimpse  of  the  "Place  -  275 
Wl  and  into  the  large  room  of  the  "home-living  place  " 

seat  notf^  Ifom  the  door.  "My  wife  will  bring  Ron- 
ald^  whom       «  Ip.^  to  ..e.  I  know,  pr«^ 

"ft  is  very  good  of  you  and  your  wife  to  take  so 
Rreat  an  interest  in  n.y  little  grandson,"  replied  Mrs, 
rile  sat  down.  "I  assure  you  I  fully  ap- 

"Thank  >-oo.'' wpTHKi  he.  Then  turning  to  where 
HMttiah  rtood,  he  directed  her  wi^  a  motkm  of  his 
hand  to  an  open  door  on  the  right,  to  wWch  rile 

hastened  her  steps.    'T  think,  though."  re««ning  the 
convcr.sat.on  with  Mrs.  Thompson  as  he  stepped  to  a 
few  feet  from  her  and  sat  down,  "it  would  be 

i^rJT*^      ''^  interested  in  the 

m^^fejlow.  for  we  love  him  ^  he  is  growing  to 

"That  is  fortunate."  replied  Mr..  Thomp«»,  her 
eyes  scanning  the  doctor's  face  closely,  "for,  I  believe, 
he  and  his  mother  expect  to  make  their  home  here  " 
res  I  am  glad  to  say.  their  home  is  to  be  here  " 

-™-tn»«I  by  W,  mother  and  Dorothy,  came  out 


276  The  Success  of  Failure 

and  directed  their  steps  to  where  they  were  sitting.  As 
they  approached  within  a  short  distance  of  him,  tte 
doctor  arose  and.  stepping  forward,  stooped  and  picked 
UP  the  chad  and  hdd  him  in  his  arms.  This,  apparent- 
ly was  no  strange  place  for  Ronald  to  be,  nor  was  he 
averse  to  being  held  there ;  for  he  unhesitatingh  placed 
his  haby-artns  around  the  doctor's  neck  and  laid  his 
head  confidingly  against  his  shoulders. 

"Were  you  talKing  to  g'andmother,  doctor  r  asked 
he.  putting  up  a  tiny  hand  to  pat  Ae  doctor's  cheek. 

"Yes.  and  I  am  going  to  carry  you  over  and  place 
you  upon  her  lap.  so  you,  too,  may  talk  to  her" ;  and, 
idsnng  the  child's  sunny  hair,  the  doctor  walked  over 
and  gave  him  into  his  grandmother's  outstretched  arms. 

"And  how  is  Ronald?"  asked  Mrs.  Thompson,  her 
arms  closing  around  the  little  form.  "And  is  my  little 

man  glad  to  see  me?" 

"I  am  quite  weU  and  vewy  glad  to  see  you,  g'and- 
mother. Are  you  well  and  glad  to  see  me?"  asked  he, 
gravdy  hoMhig  up  his  little  blind  face  to  be  kissed. 

"Grandmoaier  Is  well,  darling,  and  is  ever  and  ever 
.o  glad  to  see  vou."  replied  Mrs.  Thompson,  her  arms 
tightening  around  the  child  as  she  drew  him  closer 
to  her. 

"Mother,"  interposed  Hannah  from  where  she  stood 


Mrs.  Thompson  Gets  a  Glimpse  of  the  "Placed*  377 

between  the  doctor  and  his  wife  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  watching  with  shining  eyes  and  trembling,  smil- 
ing lips  the  meeting  between  her  mother  and  baby-son, 
"you  have  not  met  Mrs.  Ross." 

"That  is  true,"  replied  Mrs,  Thompson,  and  she 
raised  her  eyes  from  the  face  of  the  child  and  looked 
over,  with  an  apologetic  smile,  to  where  Dorothy  stood. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Dorothy,  stepping 
quickly  over  to  Mrs.  Thompson's  side,  "Mid  I  want  to 
bid  you  welcome  to  the  'home-living  j^ace.' " 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Mrs.  Thompson,  taking  the 
hand  Dorothy  extended,  "I  am  beginning  to  feel  very 
much  at  home." 

"It  gives  me  great  jdeasure  to  hear  you  say  so,"  re- 
plwd  Dorothy,  vXfkag  down  on  a  nearby  stooi,  "and  I 
hope,  some  day,  you  may  decide  to  become  a  part  of 
this  wonderfully  beautiful  thing  we  have  established." 

"I  hardly  think  so,"  replied  Mrs.  Thompson,  with  a 
(kmbtful  shake  of  hnit  head.  "Not  as  toag  as  my 
husband  lives,  anyway,  for  he,  I  kK>w,  would  never 
sanction  it." 

"No?"  queried  Dorothy.  "What  would  be  his  ob- 
jection ?" 

"Well,  it  would  necessitate  the  abandonment  of  hit 
I»ride  of  pcMritkm,  of  his.  wealtii,  of  a  hundred  and  one 
tilings  he  holds  and  priaei  deariy." 


The  Sucass  of  FaUun 

"Oh.  you  never  can  tell,"  said  Dorothy  encouragii«- 
Iv  "he  may  be  made  to  sec  M  I  have  been,  the  f oUy 
of  wdi  pride,  and  be  wil&ig,  a.  I  now  am,  to  let  Love 

have  his  way."  . . 

"I  see  you  are  quite  ignorant  of  how  greatly  pride 

influences  people  in  my  station  of  life." 

"Yes  I  think  I  do,"  replied  Dorodiy  dowly.  But 
I  am  learning,  Httie  by  Httle,  what  a  small  thing  it  is 
and  how  crudly  indifferent  it  U  to  the  best  interests 

Mrs!  Thompson's  response  was  a  wrinkled  forehead, 
a  puzzled  sn^  and  a  mystified  ^ake  oi  the  head,  and 
^e  placed  Ronald  more  comfortably  upon  her  lap 
and  laid  his  head  gently  against  her  breast. 

At  this,  Dorothy's  eyes  traveled  in  wistful  mquiry 
over  to  where  her  husband  stood  in  tiie  nriddle  of  Ae 
room.  He,  wife  Hannah,  had  been  a  siknt  listener  to 
their  conversation.  As  his  eyes  met  hers,  he  read 
aright  the  message  they  conveyed,  and  m  his  smile  and 
nod  there  was  not  only  acquiescence,  but  comprehen- 
sion as  well.  She  needed  him,  and  he  only  c«dd  re* 
spond  to  that  need.  So  saying  a  few  words  m  a  low 
tone  to  Hannah,  which  caused  her  to  immediately 
leave  him  and  take  up  a  position  behind  her  mother^s 
chair  he  quickly  crossed  the  room  and  drew  up  a  chair 
to  the  other  side  of  Mrs.  Thompson  and.  sat  down. 
The  conversaticm  tiien  became  general. 


Mrs.  Thompson  Gets  a  Glimpse  of  the  "Place"  279 

The  hour  thus  spent  conversing  wiA  Oie  doctor  and 
his  wife  was  not  only  a  particularly  agreeable  one  to 
Mrs.  Thompson,  but  she  found  it  also  highly  mstruc- 
tive ;  for,  in  that  short  time,  she  acquired  a  knowledge 
hitherto  unpossessed  by  her.  and  one  she  deemed  of 
no  nH»n  iralue.  Just  what  its  valuation  might  be,  she 
was  not  quite  able  to  determine,  nor  to  interpret  cor- 
rectly its  intrinsic  worth ;  but,  measured  by  a  mother  s 
love,  it  was  to  her  incalculable,  for  it  en^ed  h»  to 
conclude  that  Hannah  and  her  boy  could  not  l^ve 
faUcn  into  better  hands  than  into  those  of  the  founders 
of  the  "home-living  place."  And  it  was  with  a  mind  re- 
lieved and  a  heart  lightened  that  she  kissed  them  and 
bade  them  goodby  and  started  on  her  journey  home- 
ward. 


CHAPTER  XXI 


FRANK,  RESTORED  TO  HEALTH,  LEAVES  THE  HOSWTAL  Of 
THE  HEW  MRTH 

IT  was  shortly  after  the  marriage  of  Dorothy  and 
Doctor  Ross,  that  Frank-wholly  cured  and  re- 
stored to  perfect  health  and  strength-accompanied  by 
the  doctor,  passed  out  throi^h  the  doors  of  the  Hos- 
pital of  The  New  Birth. 

As  he  walked  down  the  steps  and  entered  the  doc- 
tor's automobile,  it  would  oe  difficult  for  anyone  who 
had  been  familiar  with  Frank's  face  and  form  before 
his  admisMon  into  the  hovpHal  to  recognize  them  now ; 
for,  in  place  of  the  bent,  stooping  shoulders,  the  re- 
luctant and  faltering  step  and  the  hesitation  of  an  evi- 
dently discouiaged  and  dejected  manhood,  there  was 
the  erect  carriage,  the  firm,  quick  step  a»d  the  ex- 
pressed and  unquestioned  assttrance  in  face  and  man- 
ner of  man's  right  to  be  and  do   YonA  at  its  best 
was  his ;  and.  as  one  bdidd  him  in  afl  the  newness  of 
life,  it  wa»  to  conclude  that  for  him  to  live  was  indeed 
p^worA  while;  for  he  was  good  to  lode  upon.  The 


Prank  Liwfs  the  Hospital  of  the  New  Birth  281 

tenet  his  vmx,  as  he  ocmversed  with  the  doctor, 
the  l%ht  of  his  eyes  and  tfie  smooth,  unwrinkled  brow, 
all  proclaimed  a  regenerated  manhood — that  man,  at 
last,  had  come  into  his  ow  — into  a  kingdom  whose 
every  breath  was  fragrant  with  the  joy  of  being, 
wh<Me  sig^t  was  of  an  tniinite  seeing  and  in  all  of  its 
dKogji  &ere  was  a  wonderful  meanii^. 

On  their  way  homeward.  Doctor  Ross  spoke  of  his 
marriage  to  Dorothy  and  dwelt  largely  upon  the 
changes  it  wouid  make  in  the  "home-living  place,"  all  of 
which  interested  Frank  immensely,  and  he  remarked 
when  the  doctor  had  finished  speaking : 
"Ah,  now  it  win  be  a  'home-living  place,*  indeed !" 
**Bnt  we  toast  conskler  you,"  said  tiie  doctor,  laying 
a  Innd  affectionately  upon  Frank's  shoulder.  "Now 
tiiat  you  are  well  and  strong,  what  work  shall  I  assign 
you  to  in  the  home-living  place?'  " 

"The  seeking  of  patients,"  promptly  replied  Frank 
with  a  smile,  "for,  I  can  assure  you,  there  is  no  other 
work  I  should  so  greatly  enjoy." 

"There  is  none  other  so  important,"  returned  the 
doctor,  "excepting  the  finding,  and  that  ii  aswmd  if 
one  seeks  aright." 

"And  I,  now  being  in  my  right  mind,  shall  seek 
aright,"  replied  Frank,  the  light  of  his  eyes  being  ex- 


^  Tki  Swau  of  faUwrg 

ccedingly  tender  as  he  looked  thooghtftiBy  into  the 
distuKe* 

"Ye^  there  is  no  doubt,  now,  but  that  you  will," 
replied  the  doctor,  bestowing  upon  Frank  one  of  his 
beautiful  smiles.  "However,  here  we  are,"  and  the 
car  drew  up  at  the  curb.  "The  *home-li-  ^  place'  is 
just  where  you  left  it,  you  see,"  and  <.  -Odor  rote 
and  stepped  out  upon  the  stdewaic 

"Yes,  but  I  have  no  doubt  I  shaQ  find  it  quite  a 
differeilt  place,"  replied  Frank,  getting  o«t 

ing  tfie  doctcv  up  the  steps. 

"Somewhat,  yes,"  said  the  doctor  as  he  pushed  th» 
door  open  and  held  it  so  for  Frank  to  enter.  "Never- 
theless, if  it  is  to  steadily  and  unquestionably  improve, 
your  co-operative  assistance  is  an  absolute  necessity. 
Isn't  that  so,  my  dcarT  said  he  to  his  wile,  who  ww 
landing  at  the  dow  to  grert  them. 

"It  certaiiriy  is,"  replied  she,  holding  up  her  face 
to  receive  her  husband's  kiss.  Then  turning  to  Frank 
with  a  friendly  smUe,  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him  and 
said: 

"How-do-you-do,  Mr.  Thompson,  or  Frank,  as  BoO 
has  told  me  to  call  you.  I  am  very  glad  to  welcome  yott 
back  to  Ac  'hmne-living  place.' " 

*Thank  you,**  he  replied,  taking  her  hand  and  press- 


Ffmk  Uaves  the  Hospital  0/  the  New  Birth  263 

tng  it  gaifly,  "H  is  good  to  get  back."  and  releasing 
her  hand  he  closed  the  door  and  followed  them  up  the 
hall  Upon  coming  to  the  door  of  his  room,  he  laid 
his  hand  upon  the  knob  and  was  about  to  turo  it.  wh«» 
Dorothy,  turning  her  head  quickly,  interposed  with, 
"Not  yet,  tiiere  is  someone  else  in  there  who  would 
like  to  see  you,"  and  with  a  pretty  movement  of  her 
head  she  indicated  a  room,  at  the  entrance  of  which 
the  hall  ended. 
"Indeed,"  said  he ;  and,  removing  hit  hand  feom  the 

kcob,  he  coffltiBned  on. 

«*And  we,  Dorothy,"  said  the  doctor,  placing  his  arm 
about  her,  "will  go  in  here,"  and  he  opened  f  e  door 
of  the  room  on  the  right. 

When  Frank  entered  the  room,  Hannah  was  seated 
on  a  chair  talking  to  her  boy  who  was  standing  by  her 
knee.  Sie  arose  as  he  addressed  her  and  came  forward. 

"So,  at  last,  you  arc  back,"  said  she,  and  they  shook 
'  .«!s 'warmly.  "It  seems  such  a  long:,  long  time  since 
t  away.  But  my,"  stepping  back  and  regard- 
.ni  wonderingly  and  with  not  a  littie  curioHty, 
"you  have  improved.  So  nw**  so,  I  Aould  not  have 
known  yon  had  I  met  yon  dsewhere.  What  great 
miracle  caused  so  great  a  change  in  you?" 

"The  passing  away  of  the  old  man  and  the  coming 
of  the  new." 


384 


Thi  Succtit  of  Fmhm 


"And  do  you  think  it  possible  so  great  a  change 
could  be  brought  about  in  me?" 
"Indeed,  I  do." 

"Ah,  bat  then  I  ihould  have  to  leave  Ronald,"  and 

she  put  out  her  hand  and  took  one  of  the  little  hands 
held  out  in  self-protecting  fashion  as  the  child  felt  his 
way  to  his  mother. 

Frank  smiled  tenderly  down  upon  the  little  chap. 

"Yes,"  said  he;  "but  the  treatment  accorded  you 
would  be,  to  hnn,  a  priceless  inheritance." 

"But  what  is  the  treatment?" 

"To  know  that,  you  must  experience  it" 

"Well,  would  you  recommend  it?" 

"I  certainly  would,  for  it  is  the  only  remedy  that 
produces  a  cure." 

"I  would  like  to  try  it."  said  she  tiumghtfully,  and 
die  sat  down  upcm  a  chau-  and  took  her  boy  upon  her 
lap;  "and  the  only  thing  that  makes  me  hesitate  is  this 
little  man  of  mine,"  and  bending  her  head  she  kissed 
the  soft  curls. 

"I  will  stay  with  Mart'a,  mother,"  said  the  child, 
raising  his  baby-face  with  its  large,  sightless,  bine  eyes; 
and,  putting  a  little  hand  up,  he  patted  her  cheek 
gently. 

"And  she  would  take  good  care  of  yon,  I  know, 


Frank  Ltaves  the  Hospital  of  the  New  Birth  a&s 

little  son.  But  mother,  somehow,  ctmiot  bear  to 
kftve  her  boy,  even  for  a  Httk  whik,"  and  ifae  pressed 
the  cfafld  closely  to  her. 

*'But  mother  must  leave  him,  some  day,"  said  Frank 
gently,  sitting  down  upon  a  chair  a  few  feet  away, 
"and  when  she  goes,  she  surely  wants  to  leave  him 
something  infinitely  greater  and  of  more  importance 
than  the  remembrance  of  her  presence.  She  wants.  I 
am  sure,  to  leave  htm  with  a  right  restored  tiiat  he 
may  tread  tiie  roadway  of  Hfe  fearlessly,  with  no 
tbougfat  of  stumbling  or  falling;  and  that,  as  he  ap* 
]Hroaches  manhood,  his  questioning,  faltering  step 
may  be  firm  and  assured,  and  his  changing  weaknesses 
become  an  unalterable  strength." 

"Ah,  if  that  could  be  possible!"  sighed  Hannah. 

"It  is  possible." 

"Howr 

'There  is  but  one  way,"  replied  Frank  earnestly, 
"and  that  h  your  entrance  into  the  Hospital  of  The 
New  Birth.  Old  things  must  pass  away,  if  yon  would 
have  all  things  become  new.  Inherited  social  weak- 
nesses must  be  replaced  by  inherited  social  strength, 
if  the  children  are  to  see  and  knoiY  wherem 
they  Aodd  walk.  There  wffl,  Aen,  be  no  more  seek- 
hig  for  the  many  pathways  whidi  are  now  bdieved  to 


386  Th€  Success  of  PaOtm 


lead  to  life,  for  all  will  know  there  is  but  tiie  one,  and 
to  it  the  children's  steps  will  be  directed." 

•  And  who  will  be  a  mother  to  my  boy  while  I  am 
gone? "  asked  Hannah  with  a  trembling  mSk  M 
placed  the  child's  sunny  head  against  her  bfeast 

"Mart'a  wttt  take  care  of  me,  mother,'*  said  RonaM 
sleefuly.  hb  baby-mouth  opening  wide  into  a  yawn. 

"But  Martha  isn't  mother,  darling.  But.  never 
mind,"  as  his  head  began  to  slowly  drop  backwards 
from  her  breast  to  her  arm,  "go  to  sleep,"  replied  Han- 
nah, accompanying  her  words  with  a  rocking,  sooth- 
ing motion  of  her  knees.  Then  putting  a  finger  upon 
her  lips,  she  hxjked  ow  smi&igty  at  Frwik  aad  then 
down  at  her  sleepy  boy.  Frank  smiled  and  nodded  un- 
derstandingly,  and  they  sat  quietly  and  sitently  wait- 
ing for  the  little  fellow  to  go  to  sleep. 

They  had  not  long  to  wait,  for  in  a  very  little  while 
Ronald  was  sound  asleep;  and  Hannah  straightened 
out  his  clothes,  with  that  tender  lingering  toodi 
mothers  have,  and  was  aboot  to  rise,  when  Frarie 
hastily  sprang  to  his  feet  and  held  ont  his  arms  for 
the  sleepily  child, 

"No,  no,"  said  she  softly,  "he  might  wake,"  and. 
rising,  she  carried  him  over  to  a  couch  on  one  side 
of  the  room  and  laid  him  down.  Then,  after  placing 


a  light  covering  over  him,  sIm  ksuied  tovingly  over  and 
tonchcd  her  Itpa  to  hU  hair.  ''Now  we  may  resume 
our  conversation,"  whispered  she,  as  she  straightened 
tq>  and  walked  back  to  her  chair  and  sat  down. 

"And  so  it  ;s  the  leaving  of  your  child  that  makes 
you  hesitate  to  a\ail  yourself  of  the  many  benefits  to 
be  derived  frmn  a  trratmait  at  tiie  Hoq;^  of  The 
New  Birth?"  asked  Frank  in  a  low  tone. 

"Yes.  He  is  all  I  have,  yon  know.  He  is  my  world. 
A  pretty  small  and  .inimportant  one  to  others,  no 
doubt,  but,  to  me.  he  is  all  of  the  worlds  rolled  into 
one." 

"I  see,"  replied  Frank  slowly,  his  eyes  fixed  thought- 
fully upon  the  floor.  "But  have  you  taken  into  coo- 
sideratim  that  your  deprivation  is  hb  aiao;  and  that 
yon  cannot  in^rt  unto  him  a  knowledge  grreater  than 

"That  is  very  true,  and  I  am  ^ifraid  T  hav  on- 
stdered  little  else  than  the  fact  that  he  is  mir.  all 
mine!  and  belongs  to  no  one  else,"  replied  T^mnah.  a 
sweet  smile  playing  about  her  "f>s.  emphati- 
cally. "I  am  selfishlv  glad  to  kno./  rhat  this  is  true." 

'Snt  is  it  truer  adced  Fraidc.  raishig  his  eyes  and 
reeanHng  Haimah  qnestionbgly.  "That  mothers 
thoushtiessly  boast  of  it,  I  know,  fftHInf  to  realize,  in 


288 


The  Success  of  Failure 


their  vain  human  joy  and  pride,  how  really  fr.iil  is 
their  hold  upon  their  vatmted  posi^sion.  So  scrupu- 
lously careful  are  they  of  the  material  casket,  seeing 
that  it  is  kept  clean,  properly  dressed  and  fed,  that 
they  forget  that  within  is  a  hidden  chamber,  the  door 
of  which  is  closed  and  locked,  and  to  gain  an  entrance 
one  must  have  the  key.   But  alas !  where  is  the  key  ?" 

"What  key?"  asked  Hannah  wonderingly. 

"The  key  tiiat  will  unlock  the  ^r  of  the  hidden 
chamber  of  tiiat  beautiful  piece  of  pink  and  white 
flesh  ttiat  you  boast  you  own.  Do  you  possess  it  ?  And 
if  so,  have  you  unlocked  the  door  and  swept  from 
within  all  that  will  prevent  a  life  from  being  well 
lived?" 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Hannah  in  amazement. 

"I  mean  Ais :  to  fulfill  your  maternal  obligations  you 
must  have  tfiis  key." 

"Key,  or  no  key,"  replied  Hannah  impatiently,  "I 
shall  do  my  best  for  him." 

"But  if  you  know  not  what  is  best,  how  can  you?" 

"Then  T  shall  do  what  seems  best." 

"And  which  really  may  be  wrong." 

"Then  what  am  I  to  do  ?"  asked  Hannah  helplessly. 

**Flnd  the  key." 

"What  makes  yon  so  sure  that  I  haven't  it?" 


Frank  Leaves  the  HospUal  of  th^NtwBwth  289 
"Your  all  too  eWdent  uncertamty,"  rqM  Frank, 
nsmg  and  walking  over  to  the  conch  where  Ronald 

slept.  'That  IS.  like  all  mothers,  you  are  not  altogether 
sure  what  is  best  for  your  child."  and  the  tender  love- 
linew  of  his  face  as  he  looked  down  upon  her  boy 
have  been  a  revelation  to  Hannah,  could  she 
ont  have  seen  it. 

"That  is.  I  am  «MTy  to  say."  admitted  Hannah. 

only  too  true.  But  what  are  we  mothers  to  do  to  be 
wholly  sure  that  what  we  do  is  best  for  our  children? 
Find  the  key,  you  say,  but  where  are  we  to  look?" 

"You  must  seek  it  where  it  is  only  to  be  found  in 
the  Hospital  of  The  New  Birth."  replied  Frank,  turn- 
rag  arooad  and  feeing  her. 

*TTitB  I  wonld  be  committing  a  great  wrong  to  mv 
boy,  should  I  delay,"  said  Hannah,  her  eves 

leavmg  him  and,  with  a  wonderftd  alFectioii  expressed 
in  their  blue-gray  depths,  they  rested  t^on  her  child. 

"You  would  be  depriving  him  of  his  rightful  hiheri- 
tance,"  said  Frank,  approaching  her  slowly. 

7!  f         *°  ^^""^  though  I  know  he 

could  be  m  no  better  hands  than  in  those  who  have 
made  the  'home-living  place'  possible."  said  Hannah 
with  a  heavy  sigh. 

'•But.  if  he  is  to  enter  into  the  joy  of  Ae  Iwine- 


ago  The  Success  of  Failure 

living  place;  your  leaving  Wm  i.  «i  al»ol«te  necessity. 
If  he  is  to  see  its  beauties  «hI  understand  its  wonder- 
ful workings,  the  knowledge  you  impart  to  him  must 
be  greater  than  you  now  possess,"  said  Frank  with 
great  earnestness.  "Why.  then,  do  you  hesitate  ?* 

"I  shall  not,"  replied  Hannah,  rising  determinedly  to 
her  feet.  "I  shall  ask  the  doctor  to  see  that  I  am 
admitted  at  their  earliest  convenience." 

"Which  is  whenever  you  are  ready,  said  the  doctor 
fron  the  doorway.    He  had  been  standing  Aere  un- 
observed listening  to  their  conversatkm. 
"Then  I  shall  arrange  to  go  tomorrow. 
"\^ery  well."  replied  the  doctor  coming  toward  them. 
•I  shall  take  vou  over  and  see  that  you  are  admitted. 
Then  laving  a  hand  in  a  true  brotherly  faahidi  upon 
Frank's  arm.  he  said  to  him :  "Yoa  tort  no  time.  I  see. 
in  seeking  and  securing  a  patient." 

"Nor  will  she  when  she  returns,"  replied  Frank, 
smiling  knowingly  at  the  doctor. 


CHAPTER  XXn 


FRANK  AGAIN  VISITS  THE  SHACK 

WITH  the  coming  of  the  morrow,  Frank's  heart 
burned  to  again  visit  the  shade  This  time  he 
was  going  with  a  decidedly  different  purpose,  for  now 
no  thought  of  self-destruction  possessed  him.  Indeed, 
such  a  thought  was  not  now  possible,  for  within  him 
dwdt  the  realizi^CHi  of  a  noa-d(»troyaMe  life.  Nordkl 
he  wait  undl  ^  evensi^,  hut  went  in  the  taomag 
liHit  of  a  perfect  day.  Once  more  his  feet  trod  the 
road  leading  to  the  little  pathway  that  led  to  the  door 
of  the  shack.  Reverently  and  stepping  very  softly  he 
turned  in  at  the  gate  and  walked  up  the  path.  Thai, 
taking  the  key  from  fan  podcet,  he  wdocM  ^  dcmr 
and  gently  pushed  k  open.  Steading  thoughtl^y 
within,  he  lodced  around  the  room,  surveyor;  eadi 
object  with  unaccustomed  interest.  He  then  removed 
his  hat  and  coat  and  hung  them  up  on  the  same  rack 
that  had  held  his  rain-soaked  hat  and  coat  some  time 
before.  Without  closing  ^e  door,  he  seated  himsdf 
where  he  could  get  a  good -view  of  ^  road  «Mi  waked. 

9^ 


Tht  Success  of  Failure 


Thftt  she  wonM  GOine»  he  knew,  for  had  she  not  tdd 
him  that  he  would  tee  her  agahi,  and  he  should  then 

decide  her  name. 

As  he  sat  there  waiting,  there  came  from  the  dis- 
tance the  triumphant  strains  of  a  far-away  music.  At 
first  it  seemed  like  the  gentle  whisperings  of  the  leaves 
as  they  swayed  lazily  back  and  forth  upon  their 
branches.  Then  it  came  nearer,  and  nearer,  and  he 
recognized  in  it  the  innumerable  sounds  of  the  many 
instruments  at  work  in  the  world. 

"Ah !  but  this  was  a  different  music  from  that  which 
hitherto  had  fallen  upon  his  ears.  In  it  there  was  no 
discordant  note,  nor  the  jumbling  of  non-precottceiired 
sounds,  mumntriiq;  or  loudly  proclaiming  m  Aeir  irri- 
taticm  a  confliction  of  tr  .«8.  Ah,  nol  ftis  was  mu^. 
What  tden^g  of  tones!  How  strong  and  yet  so 
tender!  How  forceful  and  yet  so  kind!  What  sub- 
limity of  utterance!  What  height,  what  depth,  what 
breadth!  What  vastness  and  fullness!  and,  yet,  in 
all  not  a  quivering  note.  It  seemed  as  though  every 
tree,  leaf  and  flower,  every  tiny  green  Wade  of  gra«i, 
every  littie  root  and  shrub,  responded  to  this  matdiless 

vohime  of  sound. 

Frank  closed  his  eyes  and  gave  himself  wholly  up 
to  the  pleasure  of  listening  to  this  wonderful  and  all- 


Frank  Again  Visits  the  Shack  293 

inspiring  music.  Indeed,  io  enrapl  wr-  he  by  tlie  tale 
that  it  told,  that  he  was  unmindful  of  a  g  ;ntle  step 
outside  and  of  the  tall,  slender  form  that  later  st:  od  in 
the  doorway ;  nor  did  he  hear  a  voice  that  said :  "Hear 
am  I,  my  friend."  And  it  was  nut  until  the  music 
passed  on  and  was  gradually  lost  in  At  distance  that 
he  opened  his  e3res  and  t  aw  that  his  expected  guest 
had  arrived. 

With  a  smothered  exclamation,  he  quiddy  arose  and 

came  forward. 

"Pardon,"  he  said,  "my  seeming  indifference  to  your 
presence.  Have  you  beoi  here  long?" 

"No  apology  is  necessary,**  she  replied,  smiting 
sweetly  and  giving  him  her  hand.  "That  music  you 
have  been  listening  to,"  sitting  down  in  the  chair  he 
placed  for  her,  "is  enough  to  absorb  the  whole  atten- 
tion of  man.  And  now  sit  down,  my  friend,"  urged 
die,  "and  tell  me  how  you  are." 

"Surely,  that  is  not  necessary,"  he  replied,  throwing 
back  his  head  wto  a  happy  laugh,  "when  my  whole 
being  speaks  for  me.** 

"That  is  true.  You  are,  I  see,  in  perfect  health." 

"And  you?"  asked  Frank  solicitously,  drawing  his 
chair  nearer  to  hers  and  sitting  down. 

"My  health  can  never  be  better  nor  worse  than  that 


a94  1'^  Success  of  Failure 

of  mtniciiKi  V  r^ied  the,  regard  him  ioM&y  with 
her  fatfge,  brown  eyet,  "and  their  joyf  and  Mrrm 
mxM  be  tSSkt  mine." 

"Ah !  if  I  had  but  known  and  understood  that "  re- 
plied Frank  with  a  mournful  shake  of  his  head,  "all 
your  days  would  have  been  healthful  and  joyous  ones." 

"So  would  they  be,  if  all  understood,  but  they  do 
not  And,  if  you  would  have  all  my  days  heaMifid 
and  Inppy  ones,  yon  mealt  tadK  tiwm  tnderstand.^ 

"I  win." 

"And  you  will  teach  them  my  name?" 

"Indeed,  I  will,  for  do  I  not  know  it?" 

"Then  it  will  be  well  with  you." 

"It  is  well  with  me  now." 

"And  will  be  forevennore." 

Tes,**  and  Frank's  voice  lingered  tenderly  upon 
eacb  word,  "for  bow  can  it  be  otherwise,  when  Love, 
Service  and  Snccess  awaH  me  in  the  liome-Uving 
place.' " 

"That  is  true,"  replied  she  quietly.  "No  greater 
honor  can  be  bestowed  upon  man  than  that  of  being 
a  co-worker  with  then.  And  to  live  with  them  is 
wen  worth  while.  Do  you  not  beBeve  sor  and  a 
tender  light  filled  her  face. 

"Indeed,  I  do— in  fact,  I  know  so." 


Frank  Again  Visits  ihi  Shack  ^ 

"Then  you  no  longer  consider  yourself  a  failure?" 

"No,"  replied  Frank  decidedly,  "I  am  what  I  was 
created  to  be,  a  success." 

"I  am  glad  to  know,"  said  she  smiling  broadly,  "tl»t 
my  enforced  companionship  did  not  prevent  you  from 
finding  the  toaA  to  meceis.'* 

"Oh  no,  it  taught  me  that  sttccen  or  lailore  was 
sot  to  be  detenmned  by  accident  nor  the  possession  or 
non-poesciwicm  of  earthly  properties,  but  rather  in  the 
losing  of  man's  self  and  the  finding  of  himself  and  in 
his  obedience  to  the  ruling  of  that  finding." 

"You  have,  then,  cMne  into  your  kii^dom,"  saki  she, 
"and  need  lear  no  man." 

"And  w>  man,  I  am  glad  to  say,**  added  he,  "need 
fear  me." 

"No,  because  you  know  the  true  relationship  exist- 
ing between  you  and  your  brother-man." 

"Yes,  and  would  that  all  knew  it  as  I  do,"  Siid  he 
ferventty. 

"They  will,  in  tiiiie»  never  fear,"  r«^  she  eo- 
<»uragiiii^y. 

"Yes,  but  how  many  must  suffer  through  the  loqg 
years  of  waiting,"  replied  Frank  sadly. 

"That  is  so,"  agreed  she;  "but  the  union  which  has 
taken  place  between  Love  and  Service  will  greatly 


296 


The  Success  of  Failure 


lessen  the  time.  True,  there  are  many  hard  and  bittef 
lessons  for  Service  to  learn;  but,  fortunately  for  the 
children  of  men,  she  has  in  her  husband  a  teacher  who 
is  invincible  and  never  makes  a  mistake." 

"Indeed,  he  does  not,"  heartily  acquiesced  Frank; 
"but  it  took  a  treatment  at  the  Hospital  of  The  New 
Birtii  to  teadi  me  that" 

"And  not  to  teach  yoa,  only,"  replied  she  gasii^ 
wistfully  through  the  open  door  and  <^  into  tiie 
wooded  distance,  "but  all  mankind," 

"If  one  would  succeed,  yes,"  agreed  Frank. 

"To  possess  such  knowledge,  you  are  wonderfully 
blessed,"  said  At,  withdrawmg  her  eyes  and  taming 
them  upcm  him  widi  a  sorions  smile.  "But  I  must 
not  tarry,"  and  she  rwe  frwn  her  chair. 

"Shall  I  not  see  you  again?"  anxiotisfy  inquired 
Frank,  getting  quickly  to  his  feet. 

"Indeed,  you  shall,"  replied  she.  a  beautiful  smile 
lightening  up  her  grave  face,  "for  now  you  will  not 
shtm  my  society  eaD  me  by  a  name  Aat  is  not 
mine;  md  wdl  win  you  kmrw  ^at  tiie  way  man  calls 
the  way  of  failure  is  oft-times  ^  way  of  micc«m,  and 
that  the  way  he  calls  by  my  name  is  not  mine  at  all, 
but  is  the  way  of  lies,  wherein  the  seed  of  deception  is 
sown.  And  of  all  ways  this  is  the  most  disappointing. 


Frank  Again  Visits  the  Shack 


The  tower  tows  the  seed,  and  then  eagerly  awaits 
tiie  appearance  of  the  first  tiny  green  leaf.  Then  with 
tender  solicitude  he  watches  carefully  the  continuance 
of  its  growth,  anticipating  its  every  demand  and  be- 
stowing upon  it  every  attention  that  it  may  grow 
qinddy,  and  he  spumi  no  tagfestkn  tiuit  wffl  enlMtttce 
ite  iietnty  and  hasten  hs  grow^  Indeed,  not  a  ^SbSbd^ 
is  left  undone  that  will  prodnee  a  fruitful  tree.  In  doe 
season,  the  fruit  appears,  and  the  proud  possessor  calls 
in  his  neighbors  to  witness  the  result  of  his  efforts. 
They  outwardly  rejoice  with  him,  even  though  they 
may  inwardly  envy  what  they  call  'his  good  luck.' 
Btttr  in  truth,  it  b  not  good  lock  diat  has  produced  tcan 
tree ;  its  growtii  has  been  watdwd  widi  vmuBKdmg  care 
and  nourished  at  g^reat  cost.  For  its  luscious  and  most 
to  be  desired  appearing  fruit,  man  has  paid  a  big 
price ;  and  although  he  may  proudly  point  to  it  as  the 
proof  of  his  success,  at  its  heart,  crumpled  up  and 
lying  useless,  are  the  forms  of  men — failures  all,  but 
failures  doe  to  die  growHi  of  ihb  tree." 

Fnmk  sighed  deeply  ami  walked  toward  the  door. 

"Don't  sigh,  my  fHend,"  said  she,  a  hand  pro- 
tntiiq^  upon  his  arm  as  she  joined  him  in  the  do(H> 
way,  "for  nnto  you  is  given  the  work  of  planting  a 
different  tree;  and  this  will  be  a  tree,  indeed,  the  fruit 


298  Tht  Success  of  Failurt 

whereof  one  might  well  be  prood.  Although  it  will 
hoast  of  no  particular  owner,  its  growth  will  be  fos- 
tered by  infinite  care  and  tender  reverence,  and  of  its 
fruits  all  may  partake — yea,  even  down  to  old  age. 
But  now  I  must  leave  you,"  and  removing  her  hand 
Irani  ins  ■fm  hk  mppco  oown  10  mW  tuxtc  psui  siki, 
flowed  sflentfjr  P!nnk,  wsBrad  to  iStt  ipite.  Then 
die  stopped  and,  taming  around,  hdd  oat  ber  hand. 

"Goodby,  my  friend,  until  I  shall  see  you  again,"  said 
she.  "Take  back  with  you  to  my  friends,  Love  and 
Service,  my  fondest  greetings  and  tell  them  you  have 
seen  and  talked  with  me  and  that  my  name  is — "  and 
•he  stopped  and  her  dark-brown  eyes  net  Fraok't  in- 
^tdring[}y< 

"Soeoest,"  he  onhetitatingly  repBed. 

•Xlood!"  exclaimed  she,  her  eyes  shining.  "Now 
farewell,"  and  passing  through  the  gate  she  walked 
with  fimi  and  assured  step  to  the  «'oad,  when  she  turned 
and  with  her  hand  waved  a  mute  farewell  to  the  silent 
figure  standing  «t  tiie  gate. 

Fraidc  slipped  wHt  ittto  1S»  roodwqr;  and,  as  he 
watdied  Urn  tafi,  toder,  erect  form  m  it  moved  atoi^ 
wi&  certain  step,  he  saw,  what  he  had  hitfwrto  failed 
to  see,  wondrously  colored  rays  of  light  that  enveloped 
her  in  a  gloriou"  mist.   At  last  she  passed  ovA  of 


Prank  Again  Visits  the  Shack 


299 


and  Frank  with  thoughtful  face  returned  to  the 
shack.  Then  he  immediately  put  on  his  hat  and  coat 
and  came  out  and  lodeed  the  door,  and  with  a  soog 
on  hit  I^,  not  yet  wag  by  the  he  h^;an  hit 
journey  btdc  to  tiie  1ioroe*lhrfaif  plaee,"  to  Lovt  and  to 
Service. 


